


The Legerdemain Conspiracy

by Deejaymil



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Best Friends, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, He's not, Hogwarts, Hotch has to mother them all, Magic, McGonagall hasn't been this overworked since the Weasley Twins, Mystery, Prompt Fic, Rossi is the worst influence, Rossi's sure he's going to be a Ravenclaw, Spencer's keeping secrets again, Team as Family, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 24,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: Emily's a hatstall, there's never been a Rossi not in Ravenclaw, and Aaron doesn't really care where they put him because he's sure they're going to realize soon enough that he doesn't belong here. Seconds after putting the Hat on his head, it chuckles and says, "Well, you're a Ravenclaw for sure. You'll be very busy there." It's a peculiar statement, but everything about his life is peculiar these days.Two years later, the Hat sorts Spencer Reid. Aaron realizes that, up until now, he really didn't know the first thing about being peculiar.





	1. February 1st: A Tumultuous Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> ****   
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 1st: **Joy**  - Let's start off with a dramatic moment: Your characters are celebrating a victorious battle!_   
> 

“Maybe you’ll get sorted in with the house elves,” the girl had said to the ranged group around her, flicking her dark hair cockily. She stood with her arms folded, her knees steady, and a completely could-not-care-less expression on her face that Aaron _knew_ was purely to antagonise. “Oh… but I should think they wouldn’t take you lot. Maybe the squid will, if you ask nice.”

There was a beat of silence. The train rattled along, the six students staring each other down, and Aaron shoved the rest of his chocolate frog in his mouth while reaching for his wand. Not that he knew how to use it yet. But if the four students decided to make a move on the girl, well…

He wasn’t gonna watch a girl get smacked around, anyway.

“This is a turn up,” said the boy slouched behind him, grinning widely and shouldering past. Aaron hunkered back. These people were strangers. Strangers at a strange new school and he shouldn’t get involved; besides, it looked like the four guys were rethinking smacking the dark-haired girl with the sharp smile. “Oi, if they’re getting sorted in with the squid, reckon there’s a brain between them?”

“Doubtful,” said the girl, her own wand tucked behind her ear. “Sup, Dave. Do you smell fish?”

Damn.

The leader of the group looked back, scanning the boy who’d spoken first, his blue gaze landing on Aaron next. “Oh look,” he murmured quietly, his mouth twisting into what would have been a smile if his face wasn’t quite so cold. “Dirty jeans, a too-small polo… we’ve got a muggleborn here. Hanging out with mudbloods, Rossi?”

“Ha!” said the boy she’d called Dave tossing his head back with his hand on his hair. “Yup! I’m as muddy as they come, Foyet.”

And then he punched him.

Aaron hadn’t grown up how he did without learning how to hold his own, but they had wands and, somehow despite being _first years_ , knew how to use them. The girl shouted something and two guys trying to pin her down dropped like stones; the third slapped her across the face as his wand went flying. Aaron blinked. Then he got mad.

It all got a bit blurry after that.

There was brief period of nothing until someone touched his shoulder. The guy—Dave? —still smiling, but softer now. “That was dumb,” he said, brushing something from Aaron’s shirt. “But cool. You’re alright, kid.”

Aaron just nodded, turning to watch as the boys they’d just royally knocked around—some still wobbly from the girl’s spells—stumbled away into the curious crowd of robed onlookers. He didn’t say anything, worried that to say something would give away how damn _excited_ he was to have _won_.

“Thanks for that,” the girl said later, when they’d been sheepishly herded off the Hogwarts Express and marched duckling style up to the hall up from the headmistress’s office They were now seated on low benches that Aaron assumed were just there for the people who’d messed up enough to earn it, but not enough to be marched all the way in. “You didn’t need to jump in. You didn’t even use your wand.”

“That’s not true,” Dave cut in, beaming as McGonagall strode towards them, her face tightly drawn. “He whacked Foyet with it after he slapped you. Hi, Headmistress! Mum told me I’d be seeing you quickly. Gosh, she was righter than she knew…”

“Oh good,” Headmistress McGonagall said, glaring at Dave. “Another Rossi. And a Prentiss I see. Your mother will be most displeased about this, Prentiss.” The girl, despite the stern tone being levelled at her, seemed delighted by this. “Hotchner, this is _not_ how I expected your first day to go. Not even your first day. We haven’t even eaten yet!”

Aaron winced. He didn’t regret his bloody nose or his scraped knuckles or even the nick in his brand new wand that McGonagall herself had taken him to get after his Dad had refused to…

He did regret the disappointment on her face as she twitched her wand near his face and the soreness went away. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, shrinking down. “Won’t happen again.”

“No,” she replied, her tone softening. “I don’t think it will. Since its your first day at Hogwarts, for all three of you… no punishments will be levelled. But this is your _only_ chance. Don’t make me regret my leniency. Now… come along. You all have to get changed into your robes so you can be Sorted, and you’re holding everyone up. I’m most displeased.”

“Brilliant,” said Dave, leaping up with a whoop. “I’m a Ravenclaw for sure. Smart as shit, that’s me.”

“Language, Rossi!”

Aaron followed on Prentiss’s heels, pretty sure he’d made four enemies. Prentiss glanced back at him, her mouth curled into a smile. He reconsidered. And he smiled back, the excitement returning but nowhere near as savage this time.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d made at least one friend as well.


	2. February 2nd: An Ambiguous Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 2nd: **Blush**  - Sparkling eyes peek through the door. Character blushes at the attention. And then...?_

There was a skinny spit of a thing peering at Aaron through the gaps in the library books, hazel eyes huge behind her thick glasses. Aaron kept quietly paging through the Transfiguration book he was sourcing for the essay Professor Blake had set them, in retaliation for Prentiss jinxing all the stools to salsa dance whenever she said ‘wands out’. Aaron just kept quietly reading. If the kid wanted to talk to him, he could go right ahead. If he didn’t… well, whatever. He didn’t care.

But he did, a little. From glances out of the corner of his eye, he could see overlong robes poking out from behind the stack, where the kid was huddled up with his knees to his chest. The occasional sniff wasn’t as sneaky as what he thought it was in the hush of the library. And eventually, Aaron couldn’t take it.

“You’re gonna get the books all damp,” he said, stepping around the aisle and looking down at the shrimpy first year, wondering if he was ever that small… or moist. He certainly didn’t remember Dave or Emily being that timid. “What’s wrong?”

And the kid froze, staring up at him. Aaron blinked. Blue and silver tie, blue cuffs on his robes.

Kid was a Ravenclaw.

“I’ve never seen you before,” Aaron said, frowning and scanning his memory. It had only been three weeks into the year, but still. He thought he knew everyone in the house, _prided_ himself on it in fact. He run his fingers over his own blue cuffs self-consciously.

“I—” squeaked the boy, turning bright red. “I’m… quiet. I don’t…” He shrunk back more, his arms folding tight around the book he was reading. Aaron glanced at it. It was the sister copy to the one he was working on, but bookmarked almost to the end. “Sorry I just… need… um.”

“What year are you in?” Aaron asked curiously, hunkering down on his heels, his wand digging into his back from its awkward home in his waistband. “You a firstie?”

The boy nodding, inching out into the light properly. His glasses were broken, cracked across the middle, his hair wild and tumbling into his eyes. “But I’m taking some third year classes,” he mumbled. “Advanced streaming. I guess. You’re… Aaron. Hotchner.”

“Yeah.” Aaron sat back, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. A nice open gesture. Friendly. Aaron knew all about being friendly to scared people. It was the same kinda way of sitting that people used to do to him, before McGonagall came and he found Hogwarts. “So you hide, huh? Why’s that?”

A shrug. Kid was still blushing. Aaron began to hope that Dave didn’t come blundering in here looking for him, or Emily with her cool stare and dark eyes offset by the vivid green of her tie and cuffs. Bambi here would bolt for sure.

“Can I see your wand?” the boy asked suddenly, blinking owlishly behind the glasses. “Uh, I mean… I just really like wands, I guess.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you give me something in return,” he said, receiving a firm _yes_ nod in reply. “What’s your name, kid?” He wiggled his wand out and held it out temptingly as he spoke.

“Spencer,” the boy said, taking it with careful fingers. “Spencer Reid. Is this fir?”

“Yeah.” Aaron took the chance to scoot a bit closer while the boy was distracted, critically examining the thin wrists poking out from the big robes. No bruises marred the white skin, but that didn’t mean anything. Bullies knew where to hit to hide the marks. “Dragon heartstring.”

“Ollivander’s old stock,” Spencer murmured, more to the wand than Aaron. “He favoured that combination. There are replications, but this is an original.”

Aaron wasn’t totally sure who Ollivander was, and felt unsure about asking this odd kid for clarification. It was unsettling, being shown up by someone two years younger and half his size. A little impressive, sure, but also unsettling.

“I think we’re doing the same assignment,” he offered as Spencer handed his wand back and looked around, seemingly for an exit. “Want to study with me? We can swap books.”

“I’d—” Spencer began, his face brightening, but it fell just as quickly. “Oh.”

“What are you doing down here?” someone asked, poking their head into the aisle. Aaron bristled, jumping upright and spinning to face them with his wand tight in his hand. The boy who looked back was skinny, dark hair floppy and thin, his eyes on Spencer. “Thought we were gonna hang out.”

“Sorry, yeah,” Spencer said, sliding the book under his arm and standing, skirting around Aaron. “Thanks for your help, Aaron. I’m going to… go with my friend.”

And they were gone, Spencer trailing two steps behind his mate with his head bowed and shoulders stooped. Aaron slipped out the stacks and narrowed his eyes, watching them leave as Dave bounded in through the doors and made a bee-line for him.

“What’s up with you?” Dave asked exuberantly, missing his tie and with his robes in disarray. At a second glance, it became apparent that he wasn’t _missing_ his tie, he just appeared to be wearing it as a belt, for some reason, the black and yellow stark against his robes. “You look cranky. Crankier, anyway.”

“What’s that kid’s name?” Aaron asked, jutting his chin after the boy Spencer had vanished with. “The bigger one, he’s a Hufflepuff. You know him?”

“Who, Hankel?” Dave wrinkled his nose. “I dunno, man, weird kid. Greasy. His toad keeps getting in our dorm. Why? And where _were_ you? Emily wants to go see if the giant squid will eat rock cakes. I’ve got two gallons down that it won’t.”

“Sure,” Aaron said, packing his scroll and quills away slowly, but the kid lingered on his mind. He kept an eye out in the common room that night but didn’t see him, rubbing his hand gingerly from where the squid had almost yanked it off in an attempt to get _more_ rock cakes. A few students wandered past, calling hi to him, but those that he asked denied any knowledge of a first year called Spencer—even the actual first years.

It was honestly like the kid didn’t even exist.


	3. February 3rd: A Malevolent Scheme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 3rd: **Fear**  - Our heroes receive a warning about the enemy's latest battle plans._

Aaron sprawled on the lakeside, lazily flicking his wand at leaves nearby to practise turning them into ladybugs. He was mostly being successful. Mostly. _Plink plink plink **plonk**_ went Emily’s rock nearby as she skipped it out across the still water’s surface. Every time it sunk, she patiently summoned it back, dried it with her wand, and tried again. Probably trying to beat Dave’s score of most skips—the two seemed locked in a never-ending war to out-do each other in _everything_.

It was, quite frankly, exhausting to observe. Aaron didn’t know where they’d found the energy to keep it going for the last two years.

“Um,” said a quiet voice behind them. Aaron jolted upright, turning his torso to find the skinny kid from the library hovering behind them. “Flatter rocks work better.”

Emily glanced back, a smile turning the corner of her sharp mouth up. “Hey, shortie,” she said cheerfully. Aaron stared at her blankly, at the easy grin she shot the boy. He swore, if he’d been searching for this kid for _weeks_ and it turned out that the only person he hadn’t asked, one of his _best friends_ , knew him and hadn’t said anything— “Professor Gideon kick you out finally?”

He made a mental note to jinx her homework. Something mildly inconvenient and moderately irritating.

“No, I—” the kid began, and stopped, flinching. Aaron was glad that he’d appeared to work out how to use words since the last time they’d spoken. And, then: “ _IwaswalkingbythethirdfloorbathroomsandMcCaulyisgonnadosomethingtoyourbroombeforethematch_.” He stopped, breathing heavily. “And he’s pretty good at jinxes…”

“That _prick_ ,” Emily snarled, throwing her rock down. “I’ll curse him into goo, I swear I will. They’ve wanted me off the team ever since—” She stopped and her mouth twisted. “Well, ever since… for reasons.”

Her wary glance at him told him clearer than words did that it was very likely her being friends with a ‘Mudblood’ was what was threatening her relationship with the more volatile members of the Slytherin Quidditch team. “Spence, wait. Stay with us, just in case they saw you. Aaron, come with me—help me check my broom?”

Spencer nodded shyly, tucking his hands back into his baggy robes against the slight chill in the air.

“Yes, I’ll help, but don’t go back to your rooms to do it,” Aaron said, standing with anger thrumming through his veins. If he was angry, Emily was _livid_ , and she wasn’t smart when she was mad. “We’ll go get it together and bring it back to the Ravenclaw common room—I’ll keep it in my dorm until the game. _And_ you should go to Gideon—he’s your head of house and they can’t hound you off your own team because they don’t like your friends.”

Emily winced. “Sorry, Aaron,” she said. “I knew you’d figure it out, but I didn’t want you to feel like… well, you can be a bit touchy about that kind of stuff.”

He frowned. She made it sound like _he_ was the unreasonable one for being uptight about people using him against his friends. He knew for a fact that Dave had gotten in three fights for ‘reasons’ that no one was talking about. “There’s a zero-tolerance policy for blood purity related victimization,” he said coolly, and saw both of the other students glance automatically towards the white-silver shine of the sun on the Battle of Hogwarts memorial. “Report them.”

“I can take it?” Spencer peeped quietly, his voice cracking. Aaron looked at him strangely. How would it be any safer in a first year’s dorm room than his? Spencer saw him looking. “I’m boarding with Professor Gideon until I turn ten,” he added, talking more to the ground than Aaron. “Professor McGonagall didn’t really want me here yet so I guess that’s her… concession. There’s no way they’d sneak into a Professor’s rooms…”

Aaron gaped. “How old _are_ you?” he managed, but Emily was already storming past with her wand jabbed back through her pony-tail and her face furious. “How do you have a wand? _Why?_ ”

But the kid was already gone, jogging after Emily and stumbling over his ridiculously long robes. Flummoxed, Aaron followed, making a mental note _not_ to tell Dave why Prentiss’s Cirrus VI broom was going to be having a sleepover with the _insanely_ under-aged Spencer. He had a feeling that Dave would either be intrigued by this new way to cheat his way to superiority in flying over the vastly better Prentiss, or he’d be so angry that someone was threatening his friend that he’d flood the Slytherin common rooms.

Either was likely, so Aaron decided to play it safe. Best not to annoy the guy who called the giant squid ‘Buddy’.


	4. February 4th: A Gratuitous Claim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 4th: **Bravado**  - The Characters must act quickly! Out the door, down the road, fearlessly onward, they will meet their enemies on the field of battle! **+** Some verbal or physical muscle flexing from the troops **+** An inspiring speech **+** Adventure awaits!_

Aaron sat between Emily and Dave at breakfast the morning before The Game, and both of them looked positively green. Emily, especially. Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin was always an intensely personal battle between the two of them. Aaron… couldn’t really understand the fascination.

“How did you do that?” Aaron asked, staring with fascination at the tiny green snakes charmed to dart around Emily’s Quidditch robes. When he leaned in to touch one, it slithered angrily away from his finger with its miniature, pink-stitched tongue flicking at him. 

“Spence,” she told him, blearily staring at her eggs. “Gave it to me when I went to get my broom this morning.”

“He wouldn’t do mine,” Dave said grumpily, trying to transfigure his pumpkin juice into coffee. “Said badgers have too many limbs and he couldn’t work out ears. Little twit.”

But he said it fondly. As it turned out, the one sure-fire way into David Rossi’s heart was by risking your neck to help one of his friends. As one, they turned to glance at the middle table where Spencer was still visible in the sea of multicolour robes simply by being an easy head shorter than everyone else around him, having to have the platters of food passed to him by longer classmates.

“Mom was so annoyed when I told her they’d gotten rid of House tables,” Emily said suddenly, her rounded American accent thickening with irritation as she glanced up to see the Great Horned Owl her mother favoured diving in overhead. “Said it was diluting tradition. Speak of the she-devil.”

“I like it,” Aaron said absently, shuffling aside on the bench so the large owl could land between them and bump his beak against Emily’s elbow, a glossy letter clutched in one talon. “It promotes inter-house friendships and—”

Dave elbowed him. “You know, you can take the broomstick out of your bum occasionally and _not_ turn everything into a team-building exercise. Besides, we’re supposed to be getting _pumped_.”

“Pumped,” Aaron repeated blankly.

“Pumped!” Dave roared, surging to his feet. Someone threw a chunk of sausage at him that he diverting into Emily’s goblet with a quick flick of his wand. Emily, skimming her letter and feeding Hogarth beans with her fork, didn’t seem to notice. “Because we’re gonna _eat_ those snakes, got it guys?”

The rest of the Hufflepuff team hummed non-committedly.

“Badgers don’t eat snakes,” Aaron said, blinking.

“Honey badgers eat snakes,” Dave corrected. “And we’re honey badgers, right boys! And girls. And honey badgers _don’t give up_.” People were looking at them now. Aaron shrank down in his seat and took the empty fork from Emily’s slack hand, refilling it with beans for the crabby looking Hogarth.

“Everything alright?” he asked Emily, her face oddly difficult to read.

“Hmm?” she said, darting a look at him. Hogarth nipped at one of her snakes, earning a swat on the beak. “Oh, get out of it, stupid bird. Go home. I’ll send Hermit with a reply if I want to speak to her.”

Hogarth snicked his beak and took off, cuffing Aaron with his wing as he went. Aaron dodged it, ignored Dave’s continued efforts to ‘pump’ people up, and slid back closer to her. “Em?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Emily huffed. “Just Mom being _Mom_. ‘ _Why aren’t your grades better, who are you networking with, I knew we should have sent you to Beauxbatons or_ _Ilvermorny.’_ Oh, and she asked if you wanted to come stay with us this summer instead of going back to McGonagall’s. Unless you’re going to Dave’s.”

“Where is she stationed this year?” Aaron asked curiously, well aware of the elder Prentiss’s Ambassadorial duties for the various magical governments. It was the main reason the Prentisses had had the pick of schools to send their daughter to.

“Greece, I think. Some whole thing, I don’t really pay attention. You should say no, then I can beg out halfway through summer and go to Dave’s. His sisters love me.” Emily took and swing of her juice, choking on it as she realized there was a sausage still bobbing in there. “Damnit, Dave!”

“My sisters love everyone, don’t feel special,” Dave said, switching his attention back to them. “And Mamma just likes feeding people. Especially skinny people. Ooooh, we should drag Spencer over. Imagine her _glee_. Anyway, ready to get _bitten by the badger,_ Prentiss?”

Emily rolled her eyes. From across the table, the Hufflepuff captain snorted loudly and called out, “You know, we’d probably actually win one against Slytherin if you’d do anything else in the match other than trying to knock _her_ off of her broom.”

“Trying,” Emily pointed out smugly. “Notice how I can knock you out of the air while still playing the game, Rossi honey?”

“Oh, it’s on,” Dave growled, grabbing his Firebolt, the handle of the lovingly restored broom gleaming under his palm. “It’s so on. _Bring it._ ”

Aaron just sighed and picked up his bag, following the two squabbling friends out of the hall as students surged to the pitch. Maybe he’d have time to catch up on his essay while they played…


	5. February 5th: A Quiet Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 5th: **Wistful**  - What could have been? Oh, if only they were here now!_

Aaron dragged his trunk down the silent halls of Hogwarts castle, wincing with every echoing _clonk_. Third year was over. It was weird… he was sure that by now they’d have realized that he didn’t belong there, that he _couldn’t_ be a wizard. They’d send him home, to his dad and the everything awful waiting there.

But they hadn’t. And here he was. Not going back to his dad at all. Going _home_.

_Clonk_ went his trunk on the final step and he stepped out into the entrance hall. By the doors, a small group of students huddled together, eyes nervous. Aaron blinked. Last year, it had just been him and a Hufflepuff named Penelope living in the Hogsmeade cottage set aside for Hogwarts students with nowhere to go. This year, two more kids stood there, both looking uneasy. Pressed close.

Aaron recognised both. Spencer looked up at him as he walked over, smiling nervously and huddling next to Hankel.

“Right, come on you lot,” Hagrid said, shoving open the doors and gesturing the four students through. “Professor McGonagall’s got stuff to finish up but she’s gonna meet you there and settle the newbies in. Alright, Aaron. Good to see you.”

“Hi, Hagrid,” Aaron said politely, trudging behind as they scurried out the doors and around the memorial to get to the horseless carriage waiting on the roadway. “See you next year!” The giant man waved, smiling warmly as they climbed in and looked around at their new housemates. No one really spoke, until Spencer scrambled up, sliding through the small window set into the front of the carriage and out to where a driver would sit, if they had one. Aaron waited a beat and then followed, his broader shoulders ill-suited to the squeeze. Penelope and Hankel watched silently, both withdrawn into their own company.

“What are you doing?” Aaron wheezed, brushing dust from his robes. “I didn’t know you were a Padfoot kid.”

Spencer smiled, shrinking onto the bench and staring down through his glasses at the bumping road underneath them. “Do you know why they call it the Padfoot house?” he said finally, glasses slipping down his nose on every bump.

“It’s not,” Aaron said, making himself comfy. From inside, he heard a cautious conversation start up. “It’s the Potter House, officially. McGonagall encouraged its creation in retaliation to backlash over Harry Potter’s mistreatment by his blood family, and Hogwarts’ apparent enablement of that.”

“She didn’t just encourage it,” Spencer corrected him, his gaze switching to an oddly unfocused point just in front of the carriage, eyes shifting as though he was watching something sway back and forth. “She _was_ the backlash. And when there was a resistance against the idea, she funded it herself and provided the home. To ensure she had the support of those who backed Potter, she named it after him.” He seemed to be talking just to distract from something. Probably from Aaron asking why he was joining the ‘orphan’s’ home. “Potter apparently put his full support behind the idea, as did Granger, but when the house was named after him, he incessantly charmed the signs to read ‘Padfoot’.”

“And eventually they gave up fixing them,” Aaron said with a chuckle. “Yeah, I know. So, now it’s the Padfoot House. And you’re staying there…” It was a leading statement. They knew each other’s stories. Penelope knew about his dad, he knew about her parents. They’d all known about Alberny, who’d graduated last year, and the parents he’d lost hunting down the last of the Death Eaters from Voldemort’s time. Hankel and Spencer were… unknowns.

“Do you know what a Thestral is?” Spencer asked abruptly.

“No,” Aaron admitted.

“Oh.” Spencer hunched closer, his chin on his knees and hair flopping. “You should look them up. They’re very cool—they pull the carriages. Is it nice there? At this house? I’ve… I’ve only ever lived with my parents. But my dad left and my mum… died. And I’m not good with other kids.”

Aaron slid closer, cautiously wrapping an arm around the smaller boy. Spencer let him, sniffing wetly. “It’s great,” he said, thinking of his home at London and how much better things were now. But it sounded like Spencer had been… loved. “But it can be lonely, I guess.”

Spencer didn’t answer, just stiffened as up ahead, a sign came into view.

_~~Potter~~ _ _**Padfoot** House_

_For the children of Hogwarts_

_Who will always be protected_

That night, Aaron lay in the room that was more his than his bedroom at home in London had ever been and paged through one of the books from the small library McGonagall had cultivated. Up the hall, he could hear Penelope singing along to the radio; downstairs, McGonagall herself was likely sequestered in her study. Spencer and Hankel were in their own rooms, quietly unpacking and adjusting themselves to their new home.

He looked back at the page and the eerie sketch splayed across it. _Being able to see Thestrals is a sign that the beholder has witnessed death and gained an emotional understanding of what death means._

Shunting the book aside, he got up and padded barefoot down the hall to the bare-walled room, containing nothing but a trunk and a pile of school-books displaying that the room now belonged to a small, lost boy. Aaron swallowed loudly, and Spencer jerked up to look at him, somehow looking even tinier in a shirt and jeans instead of his oversized robes.

“Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?” Aaron asked gently, swinging the door between his hands. “New homes can be… scary. And, if you want, you don’t have to… but if it would help, you can tell me about your mum.”

“Please,” whispered Spencer. “That would be… thank you.”


	6. February 6th: A Deserved Downfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 6th: **Bickering**  - What says love more than a heaping helping of belligerent sexual tension?_

The downside of living in Padfoot House was _teachers_.

Flitwick stopped by every Sunday for tea and biscuits. Hooch popped in once every few weeks and tittered about broomstick prices and the upcoming World Cup. Even Blake appeared twice, both times with special assignments for Spencer that led them to be cloistered away for hours in the sitting room downstairs with the doors and windows muffled to keep the other students from eavesdropping.

But, weirdly, the most common visitor, and the _worst_ as far as Aaron was concerned—mostly because he just kept _teaching_ , like he didn’t realize it was holidays—was Professor Gideon. And it was weird that he just kept coming, because as far as they could all tell, McGonagall didn’t even _like_ him.

“Maybe he’s blackmailing her,” Penelope guessed, wiggling up onto the oak tree branch next to Aaron and reaching for the Omnioculars Dave had given Aaron for Christmas the year before. “Come on, lemme see.” From below, a branch cracked as Spencer and Tobias wrestled over climbing onto it at the same time, bickering in lowered voices.

Aaron handed the Omnioculars over, squinting to readjust his vision to peering through the sitting room window across the grass, where McGonagall and Gideon appeared to be heartily arguing over a series of paintings rolled out on the table.

“Maybe they’re dating,” Spencer suggested, winning out the fight by being smaller and slipperier and shimmying his way up the tree, breathing heavily. The branch groaned ominously under their weight.

They turned to look at him. From below, there was a wheezed, “Oh, _what_ , ew,” from Tobias.

“Spence, hun, that’s disgusting. You wash your mouth out,” Penelope said, covering her own mouth with horror.

“Imagine the children,” Tobias breathed, earning gagging noises from Penelope and Aaron and a sharp, “That’s _not_ how that works,” from Spencer.

“Gross, dude,” Aaron informed him, taking the Omnioculars back. He twirled the dial, zeroing in on their potions professor as he smiled and gestured to the paintings—birds, Aaron reckoned, from what he could see. “When will he _leave_? I’m hungry and if go in there, he’ll probably start asking us if we’ve done our homework…”

“I’ve done my homework,” Spencer said cheerfully, swinging his legs.

“So have I,” added Tobias.

Aaron had too. But he wasn’t going to say that. He peered through the lenses, right as McGonagall… _giggled?_

“Oh shit, what if they _are_ dating?” he choked out, mouth gaping open. “They’re _flirting_.”

“What?” at least two others barked, lunging for the Omnioculars. A brief but violent tussle ensured, ending only as the branch gave way and sent all four of them crashing to the ground.

“Ow,” whined Tobias, the unfortunate bottom of their pile of limbs.

Spencer just slid from the top of them, nudged the branch from the other boy’s legs, and said, “Uh oh.” They all looked up to see the two teachers striding across the lawn towards them, faces stormy. “We weren’t spying, Professors. Honest.”

He was a shite liar.


	7. February 7th: A Dreadful Menace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 7th: **Thrill** - Escape scene! _

A letter duly arrived right when summer holidays were beginning to drag more than fly—a letter borne by, to Aaron’s horror, a very pretty but exceedingly aggressive goose—inviting both Aaron and Spencer to spend the final three weeks before their return to Hogwarts at the Rossi’s sprawling home. Aaron accepted immediately. Spencer, once McGonagall rescued him from the tree that Dave’s goose had chased him up, took a little more convincing. A reply was promptly sent, asserting that _both_ boys would be delivered to London, and also to please refrain from sending mail by goose in the future. Aaron seriously doubted Dave even knew what the word ‘refrain’ meant, and made a mental note to work through Spencer’s newfound fear of geese before Dave clicked onto it and made it worse.

They were promptly delivered to London, picked up by Dave and his chattering mother, and dumped right into the middle of the Rossi gaggle of children. The middle of five sisters, Dave was spoiled rotten, and he knew it. The girls, delighted with the novelty of having _three_ boys to spoil, immediately descended on the smallest and weakest of them—rather much like the goose had. Aaron was declared ‘dateable’, Spencer ‘adorable’, and Dave kept the title of ‘darling’ and apparently all three of these things involved their hair being fussed over ceaselessly.

One week in, they found Spencer crammed into the tiny gap between bookcase and roof, peering down on them like a startled chipmunk about to fiercely defend his nest.

“Alright up there, squirrel?” Dave asked with a snort of laughter that he muffled carefully, closing the door behind them so it didn’t make a click. Despite their amusement, _none_ of them were keen to attract unwanted attention.

“They want to _dress me_ ,” Spencer whispered, hunkering back into the space. Aaron craned back on his tiptoes, trying to tell just how the kid was actually fitting up there without creating his own hammer-space. He was _small_ , but that gap was _tiny_. “I don’t want to be dressed. Or fed. They keep feeding me! I don’t _need_ more food. And the oldest one has _make-up_.”

“I recommend purple with your complexion,” Dave said, right as a loud giggle sounded outside the door. Aaron backed away hurriedly, bumping the bookshelf. He considered, for a moment, climbing up there with Spencer. The footsteps grew closer.

“Oh, Aaaaaa-ron,” came the shrill cry of the youngest Rossi, the one who’d taken Aaron’s hand and led him to a tea set and quietly demanding he _play_. Over and over and over and over and over again…

“Oh no,” Aaron moaned, and looked for an exit. There was a window.

It was a two-story drop. Into the goose pen.

The boys looked at each other.

“Davey! Daaaaavey, where’s Aaaaron?”

As one, they dived for the window, Spencer almost bringing the bookshelf with him.

“Run!” howled Spencer, as the door burst open.


	8. February 8th: An Unsolicited Badger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 8th: **Need**  - When your character needs them, they are there._

Fourth year brought them actually letting Spencer sleep in the dorms with the first years, which was fine. Absolutely fine, until Aaron opened his eyes to the kid hovering about an inch from his nose with his glasses fogging up from Aaron’s breath.

“Ahhh!” screamed Aaron, surging up and accidentally head-butting Spencer.

“Ahhh!” cried Spencer, falling back and rubbing his head accusingly. The other boys woke up with their own yelps, wands flaring from the beds around and above them. “I’m sorry!”

“What the hell, Spencer?” Aaron snapped, reaching for his own wand to light the room with.

“I—” Spencer looked at the three other curious faces watching them. “Had a nightmare. Can you help?”

Snorts of laughter and sniggers sounded as the other boys rolled back into their covers, their interest waning. Aaron winced, knowing that that was only going to come back to bite them later, and sighed. “Yeah, alright,” he said gruffly, slipping out of bed to pad after the pyjama-clad almost-ten-year-old.  

As soon as the door swung shut behind them and they’d started down towards the first years’ room, Spencer whirled on him. “I didn’t have a nightmare,” he confessed, grabbing Aaron’s hand and tugging him to the exit. “Quick, we need you.”

Bemused, Aaron followed. “Where are we going?” he asked, digging his heels in as Spencer led him unerringly towards the door of the Ravenclaw Tower. Their bare feet smacked on the cold floor, the marble statue of Rowena staring down disapprovingly on them as they skirted past. “It’s past bedtime… Filch will be out.”

“I know,” Spencer whispered. “But we _need_ to go.”

He so rarely asked anything of Aaron that Aaron simply nodded and went. They slipped out, the knocker humming _naughty_ as they went, scampering down the halls with ears and eyes open ready for Filch or his noxious cat to spring out at them. Aaron tried to keep track of where they were going—Spencer seemed to have an absolutely photographic memory of every twist and turn the castle threw at them, bolting through portrait holes and behind statues on an unerring journey downwards. Aaron was impressed, and also determined not to let Dave know just how many secret passages Spencer knew. They’d never get anything done.

A sniff up ahead, and Aaron paused. Spencer skipped forward, nodding and waving for Aaron to follow as he slipped into one of the dungeon classrooms. Aaron took stock of their location—near Slytherin for sure. He followed, already sure what he was going to find.

“Who are you?” demanded a blonde-haired girl in blue-silk pyjamas, leaping up and threatening them with her wand. “Get out. Get out or I’ll have Gideon in here! I’ll scream—you watch!”

Aaron ignored her, moving past to the girl hunkered down under a table. Dark hair sheeting down, Emily was still in her school robes, soft hiccupping whimpers sounding from where she was covering her face with her arms.

“Em?” Aaron asked softly, scooting under there with her. “Hey, you alright?”

“It’s okay,” he heard Spencer saying behind him. “We’re her friends. I’m Spencer.”

“I’m JJ,” said the girl reluctantly. “I’m in her dorm. I didn’t see who did it.”

“Go away,” Emily mumbled. “You’ll tell Dave and he’ll be _gleeful_.”

“We would never,” Spencer said firmly. “Not ever! Right, Aaron?”

“Sure we would,” Aaron said, earning a _huh_ from Spencer. “Because you’re upset and he’s our friend—and he’d do anything you asked of him, even though he’s a ginormous git.” She snuffled wetly, almost a laugh, and lifted her head to look at him. He winced.

She burst into tears.

Realizing he’d messed up, he slipped closer and hugged her tight. “We’ll get you fixed up,” he said determinedly. “I’m sure it can’t be _permanent…”_

“It’s Polyjuice potion, I think,” JJ added, skipping close. “I already tried what I know, but that isn’t much. I think it’s Polyjuice with… well. I don’t know where they got badger fur…”

“They said if I wanted to hang with a badger I should fit in better,” Emily whimpered, curling against his chest and pressing her damp face against his chest as her breathing slower. “And I cried in front of them because it _hurt_ and I hate crying and I hate them and I’ve got _fur_.”

“It’s very pretty fur,” Spencer added uselessly. “But we can’t fix that… you’re going to have to go to Madam Pomfrey.”

He curled his fingers through her hair, wiping it back from her face and trying not to twitch when his fingertips brushed rounded, fuzzy ears instead of the expected lobe. “Doesn’t matter what it takes,” he said finally, holding out his hand for her to take and standing. “We’ll stay with you until they fix it. Promise.”

“Promise,” chimed in Spencer and JJ, even, both of them reaching out to touch Emily’s arm.

“Thanks guys,” Emily said, wiping her nose on her sleeve and following them from the room. “But… please don’t tell Dave until they’ve at least fixed my nose…”


	9. February 9th: An Over-Embiggened Event

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 9th: **Everywhere**  - This battle was a little bit... extra messy._

Aaron was having _fun_.

“I was wrong,” Dave said grumpily, elbow deep in a bucket of soapy water. “You’re not uptight. You’re a _sadist_.”

Aaron leaned back against the wall he’d cleared for himself, flicking his wand back and forth temptingly. Four pairs of eyes tracked it. All of them messy, all of them frowning, Penelope, Spencer, their new friend, _and_ Dave all wanted what Aaron had.

And he wasn’t giving it to them.

“Consider this a lesson,” he said cheerfully, and made himself comfier. Around them, blobs of glistening red aggressively dripped from every surface. “Spencer, quiz time.”

Spencer, despite absolutely knowing that Aaron was being a prick, perked up at the mention of ‘quiz’, pausing in his vigorous scrubbing of the Slytherin common room’s mantle. Which appeared to have about eighty percent of a frog smeared across it.

“What have we learned today?” asked Aaron.

“Not to listen to Dave?” Spencer replied pertly. As a reward for a good answer, Aaron vanished the frog leg about to fall onto his head from the ceiling.

“What else did we learn?”

“That Gideon is an absolute monster for detentions,” Dave grumbled, pulling a face as he looked up and realized they still had three entire walls to scrub. “And that you’re gonna be a bitch of a prefect.”

Aaron did not vanish the frog leg that glopped onto Dave.

“Not to let Rossi do the engorging charm on our wonderfully thought out revenge scheme,” Penelope muttered from across the room, carefully working over the same five slates of rock so she didn’t have to move onto the true grossness that was the aftermath of the cauldron of exploding frogs. Aaron looked at her. “Uh, I mean… don’t let Spencer do that sweet little ducky eye thing that he does where you just want to hug him until he stops doing the sweet ducky eye thing or, alternatively, you agree to exploding a cauldron of frogs—”

“The plan was never to _explode_ the frogs,” said the Gryffindor that Aaron hadn’t met but who had, by all accounts, gleefully joined in on Dave’s grandiose plan to ‘get back at those slithering bastards that badgered _my_ friend’. “We were just gonna release a bunch of _giant_ frogs into the common rooms. No frogs were meant to be harmed.” Morgan, his name was, Derek Morgan—and he was the only one who didn’t seem completely disgusted by the frog bits everywhere.

“We just got exuberant with the embiggening,” Penelope finished sadly, her mouth turning down into a miserable line when she realized she had a frog liver on her knee. “Oh.”

Aaron took pity on her and vanished that. After all, they _had_ done this for Emily. That was… pretty heart-warming, actually.

The fact that they’d hidden it from him until _after_ they’d been busted was less so. Their sentence was to scrub the entire room clean so the Slytherins could have their common room back, _without magic_.

Aaron thought it was rather well deserved, to be honest. “You haven’t told me what you _really_ learned yet,” he said, and crossed his arms behind his head to wait.

“I know what we really learned,” Spencer piped up. They all looked at him. Aaron saw him grin, and smiled back. “Next time, we should probably get the guy who is _good_ at charms do the charming.”

They all looked at Aaron, who sighed as he thought of what could have been.

“I would have made them scream as well,” he said wistfully. “It would have been _glorious._ ”


	10. February 10th: An Indissoluble Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 10th: **Tactics**  - A coordinated strike on the enemy._

After The Embiggening Incident, Aaron took charge. Emily was finally de-badgered, and none of them were keen on throwing her back into the snake’s mouth. Something had to be done. And—unlike Dave’s attempt—they were going to do it properly.

Together.

Spencer’s memory of the twists and turns of Hogwarts castle was photographic. He led them right into the dead end corridor, jumping the trick stair that led down into the depressed hallway and skidding to a stop beside Aaron.

“Good work kid,” Aaron said, and stepped in front of him. Shortie wasn’t going in the firing line.

From around the corner, four students chased him. McCauley and a female Slytherin Aaron didn’t recognise. Foyet, his eyes glinting like he was barely holding back a laugh when he saw Aaron there. Oddly, at the rear, a Gryffindor lingered, eyes narrowed. McCauley and the girl stepped straight into the trick floor, sinking to their waists with twin yelps.

Foyet examined then intently, his expression unchanging. The Gryffindor turned to run, almost hurtling right into Morgan and Dave, with JJ strolling behind them like a cat behind her two big brothers. A really sneaky cat, a vial of some potion that alternated between powder and liquid form as she swirled it around held loosely in one hand.

“Jennifer, what the fuck are you doing?” snapped the girl, twisting her torso to glare at the quiet Slytherin girl. “You traitor! I’ll jinx you to your bed!”

“Will you?” JJ asked, tilting her chin towards the girl. The potion tipped, sloshed, turned to a puff of powder again and swirled in the stoppered vial.

“I wouldn’t,” Foyet said, looking at Aaron. “Jareau is terrifying in potions. I don’t think you want what she’s offering, love.” The girl went quiet, eyes tracking the vial. “Hotchner, hello. What a non-surprise. Five against four?”

“Six,” the Gryffindor corrected, glancing at Penelope sitting neatly in the window arch. “That one has a recording spell on.”

“It’s hardly six against one,” Aaron said with a shrug and a smile, slinging his hands in to his pockets. “We didn’t ask you here. You just came… chasing our, friend, we note.”

“Just playing,” McCauley whined, trying to pull himself out of the step. “We were gonna muck around with him. Have a laugh.”

“Oh, a laugh,” Dave said in a low voice. “Let’s have a laugh. I like laughs. What kind of a laugh?”

“Potions make me laugh,” JJ added. _Slish slosh_ went the potion in her hands. “I can do all kinds of things with them. Spence, hey, how good are you at potions?”

“Not great,” Spencer admitted, walking out from behind Aaron and flicking his hand in disinterest. A casual gesture, but when it was over there was a vial in his hands. _Slish slosh_ went the vial, and he spun it between his fingers and it vanished mid-spin. “But I’m _very_ good at sleight of hand.”

“I prefer flying,” Morgan cut in, nudging Dave. “Right? I mean, it’d suck if, for some reason, you couldn’t fly. Maybe during your next match, you smack a bludger a little too hard, knock one of your own team members off their broom. They complained about you before, Doyle, said you had it in for them. Man, you shouldn’t have done that. I really didn’t deserve it. Off the team for sure.”

The Gryffindor paled but said nothing.

“Herbology with the Hufflepuffs could become problematic,” Dave said. “I’m fond of Herbology, you see, and the other ‘Puffs are fond of me… be shite if none of them trusted you snakey bunch not to screw them over. Especially the older ones. They _really_ don’t like their younger housemates being picked on.” He smiled winningly, and added as an afterthought, “You’re in my sister’s year, right, Foyet?”

Foyet didn’t answer, just looked to Aaron.

“Going to threaten me too, Hotchner?” he asked quietly. “How about I make you a deal to forget this ever happened?”

“I don’t take deals,” Aaron said ruthlessly, pulling his wand out. “But I am top of my year in Transfiguration close to top in Charms, and if you think McGonagall will believe you over me when I tell her you jumped me in a dark corridor and gave me no choice, you’re nuts. So, here’s my own deal. Stay the fuck away from my friends, or I’ll turn you into the worm you are. And I _don’t_ miss.”

Silence.

Finally, Foyet nodded, ignoring the other’s protests.

“I’ll know if you do anything,” Aaron added warningly as Morgan and Dave yanked them roughly out of the trick step and shoved them towards the open corridor. “I _will_ know.”

“We all will,” Dave finished, and the group vanished without another word. “Come on, you dozy lot. We’d better piss off before they have Gideon down here.”

Aaron nodded, their own group scattering quickly in smaller clusters, Spencer tripping over himself to follow Dave and Morgan and JJ slipping her arm through Penelope’s to skip away in the other direction. Aaron waited.

Emily stepped away from the wall where the Disillusionment Charm had been hiding her, her skin oddly textured as it tried to keep her hidden. He might be top at Transfiguration, but Morgan had a scary knack for Charms that made Aaron’s skills look rudimentary.

“That was…” she began, and trailed off, her expression invisible under the charm.

“Yeah,” he said self-consciously, reaching up to ruffle his hair into disarray. “Well. You know.”

She looked at him oddly, fingers brushing his arm. Her touch was warm. “Yeah,” she said. “I know. Thanks.”


	11. February 11th: A Valiant Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 11th: **Sacrifice**  -  **Super Saturday** \- - To escape you must leave one of your own people behind to be captured by the enemy **+** One of the escapees suffers from Heroic BSOD **+** Add a heaping helping of Finagle's Law **+** Everything ends up like this_

Dave was covered in mud. Liberally covered. In fact, as Aaron glanced sideways at him, he was so covered that Aaron wasn’t quite sure where Dave ended and mud began.

“To win,” Dave had whispered, smearing muck up the back of Spencer’s hair, “we must be one with the earth.”

“One with the loonies,” Emily had responded, and poked him in the ear with her trick wand when he’d tried to lob mud at her. “Gross. You’re so gross. Why are you so gross?”

“Shh,” Aaron commanded. The ruffled group around him fell quiet, crouched under the overhang of the fallen tree they’d found. Bracken hung over the front, tumbling down and hiding them from sight, green-yellow light shifting across their faces as the wind swayed it from side to side. “We need a plan. Whose turn is it to win this year?”

Eyes skimmed around as they examined each other. From across the clearing, Aaron saw Morgan’s head pop up from where he and Penelope were hunkered down with Tobias and JJ. The annual Defence Against the Dark Arts Inkwand Game was _serious_ business, and Aaron didn’t want a repeat of last year when Spencer had tripped on a root and his game wand had misfired and shot them all.

“I think it’s Gryffindor,” Dave grumbled eventually, all turning to look at where the others were separated from them by a long expanse of open clearing. “Morgan wasn’t with us last year, so it’s his turn to win one. Guess we gotta dig him out then.” In theory, the games were house vs. house. Aaron had always scoffed a bit at theory. In _practise_ , no man would be left behind. Only one house could win, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t share in that.

“Slytherins to the north,” Spencer announced, wriggling in place. Emily wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close in a sort of half-hug, half-headlock to stop his jiggling from giving them away. From the crook of her arm came a muffled, “Fourth years.”

“Seventh year Ravenclaws to the east keeping an eye on them,” Aaron informed them. “Spence and I can probably lead them away.”

“Not after last year you can’t,” Emily retorted. “Everyone knows we gang together now. Dave almost got stunned by a ‘Puff before, but Hankel jinxed them.”

Distantly, a magically enhanced voice floated across the grounds, covered the sounds of squeals and spells being fired. “One hour remaining,” called Professor Potter, his voice cheerful. He took this class every year, taking a hiatus from his job as an Auror to try to teach them combat arts in the field. Or maybe because he enjoyed watching them try increasingly more convoluted ways of ensuring not only their house, but also their team, reached the top. The trick wands, designed to leave a chalky coloured paste across anyone shot with them, were a Weasley invention, once that Spencer had spent _hours_ begging to examine.

“Call us when you’re an adult,” George Weasley had responded with a snort, peering down at him.

“Maybe,” Ron had added, winking.

“Well,” Emily said suddenly. “Where’s the scroll we have to get to win? It’s just through there, yeah? Why don’t we… rush it?”

“Rush it,” Aaron said blankly, staring at her.

“Every other year we make some convoluted plan and that’s probably what they’re expecting from us now,” Emily explained. “So… we just… rush it. We cover Morgan—disarm and deflect where we can, Aaron do that thing with the leaves you do where you make them buggy, that will distract people. Spencer, you…”

Spencer beamed and waited.

Emily winced. “Uh, you just. Stick close. And Dave, just make a lot of noise so everyone looks at you. Your head is a big enough target that you’ll probably be the first one down anyway.”

Dave and Spencer both looked sad at this.

Aaron thought about it for a moment. It was a _bad_ plan. But… it was an _unexpectedly_ bad plan.

“I like it,” he said, and felt a grin slip onto his face when Emily beamed at him. “Right, on three. We gotta get to them, get out, and go for the scroll. No matter what—Morgan doesn’t fall. Got it?”

“Aye,” they said as one, gripping their wands.

“Three… two… _one!”_

They ran.

 

* * *

 

“I have to say,” Professor Potter was saying, fighting back a smile. “This is… the _singularly_ most unconventional way I have ever seen a game won.”

Morgan, taking the small bag of gallons he’d gotten for reaching the scroll first, his house cheering him on, was beaming. “Thanks, sir,” he said, ducking his head. “I— _really_ —couldn’t have done it without my friends.”

Potter glanced at them, his eyebrow cocked. Aaron wiggled down into his seat, picking away the patches of red stupefy spells he’d been hammered with once the students around them had recovered from the shock of every leaf above them suddenly being transfigured into chalky tarantulas that had rained down around them.

“Yes,” Potter said slowly, skimming the ragged group sitting at the table together. Emily, her head a violent purple from whatever the Slytherins had hit her with. Dave who was bright yellow and green and proud of it. JJ who sported a single daub of black chalk on her cheek. Hankel who’d lost his head a little and ran screaming at the fourth year Slytherins when they’d shot Emily. They’d jinxed him, but he’d scared the shit out of them as they did so.

Spencer, who was a rainbow medley of every colour possible across his back and bum after the rest of them had fallen metres from the scroll and he’d gotten Morgan across the line by jumping monkey-like onto his back and taking every hit for him. Besides the Gryffindors, who were cheering his name, and the Ravenclaws, who really didn’t seem to care, every other student was glaring at him.

“For exceptional teamwork and sacrifice in this year’s games,” Potter said finally, after a glance at McGonagall. “Instead of only the usual one hundred points to the winning house, I’m also adding fifty points _per_ member who assisted with this ill-thought out but outwardly courageous scheme. Well done, students. You’ve done the games proud. Our first defence against the dark arts is _each other_ , and you showed that today.”

“Oh,” said Emily, as her house began to cheer for her for the first time ever. “ _Oh_.”

Aaron just beamed.


	12. February 12th: A Fishy Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 12th: **Arcadian**  - A break, some down time, a moment of peace._

Fifth year started off quiet. Peaceful. Foyet kept to himself, the Slytherins left Emily alone, Dave deflated his ego a bit, Spencer started to actually look like he was wearing his robes instead of just wrapping them around himself.

It was… nice.

Memorable. Aaron flopped back beside the lake, the grass warm and damp under his back and the fading remnants of the autumn sun drifting down over the horizon. Bugs whistled around them. Emily was feeding her owl, Hermit, treats with the bird cuddled up on her lap. Spencer was on his tummy beside her, reciting spells from a dusty old tome to the oddly fascinated Morgan. Probably something to do with flying, no doubt. Penelope was leaning over the lake surface with Dave, the both of them bickering over whether the squid would actually come if Dave whistled for it. An argument Penelope seemed to be winning, as the lake remained resolutely still.

“Hey, you,” JJ said, inching closer and laying down so her blonde hair was tumbled over his shoulder, staring up at the clouds. “You look pensive.”

“I’m thinking,” he retorted, watching as Hermit hooted grumpily and tried to bite at Emily’s fingers as the girl didn’t give up the treats quickly enough. On his chest, his prefect badge glinted. JJ wore one just like it, green where his was blue.

“You’re staring,” she retorted, smirking. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, looking away from Emily right as the squid burst from the lake and wrapped two tentacles around the screaming Penelope for a fishy kind of hug. “Oh shi—!”

Peaceful never lasted long around here.


	13. February 13th: A Silent Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 13th: **The Breach**  - Image prompt! _

There was a section of Hogwarts that stood empty. No one really went there. It wasn’t prohibited or discouraged, it was just… sad. Aaron went there a lot. He loved his friends and he loved his common room and he _loved_ his school, but sometimes he just needed to be alone. During his first year, they were brought here and stood out the outskirts and McGonagall had quietly told them the stories of these silent corridors. The people who had fallen here. The people who had died.

_This wall was breached first_ , she said, and the wind had whistled through the broken masonry. They were all quiet, their attention fixed on that gaping hole. _Others followed._

Aaron was muggleborn. He hadn’t known this war, the stories of the Battle of Hogwarts. He hadn’t known the people who’d died. But so many around him had. Dave’s grandparents, two uncles. Emily’s dad.

He didn’t think, in the years that followed, that the people who had died would mind him coming here.

Snow floated in through the breach, and he curled up between two shattered stones and stared up at the sky. He wondered, distantly, how the sky had looked that day as the school had fallen. He thought, a little, about his homework that was due soon. He thought about Spence improving quickly in his spellwork, and he thought about Dave’s new plan to find himself a pet Niffler.

He thought about Sean. He tried not to think about Sean.

“Happy birthday,” he mumbled, and curled into himself. His wand jabbed his leg through his jeans pocket, a reminder that _he_ might be safe, but his brother… “Hope you’re okay, kid…”

“Aaron?” The voice was soft and entirely unwanted. Aaron curled tighter, snow stinging his face. “Hey. Missed you at dinner. It’s cold in here.”

“Christmas soon,” he said, and looked up at Emily. There was snow in her dark hair, a Ravenclaw scarf drawn tight around her throat and mouth. She shouldn’t be wearing that. Heat rushed into his stomach and he surged up, reaching for it. “You’ll get picked on wearing that,” he said, and stepped closer, unwinding it before she could resist. But she didn’t, just cocked her head and watched him as he twined it around his hands and tugged his wand out of his pocket. She didn’t say anything as he tapped his wind against it, squinting against the chill and mouthing the words of the incantation.

The scarf shimmered; blue, black, silver, blue, green. From Ravenclaw to Slytherin. He handed it back, the soft material slipping over his cold fingers. Hers caught his, tangled close.

“Your hands are freezing,” she said, and closed hers around them. The scarf tangled between. To avoid looking at how close she was, he looked down at the tag of the scarf, the neat _AH_ stitched in the end. “Come on, let’s go back to your common room. We’ll play Spence in chess.”

“This is my scarf,” he stated numbly. When had she gotten his scarf?

His heart skipped a little, the heat back in his stomach but shifting up to his chest, and there was snow on her eyelashes.

“Yes,” she said, and stepped closer. “Yes it is. Aaron, come on. You’re really cold. Have you been crying?”

“It’s mine,” he said again, and frowned. “I don’t understand.”

And she looked at him strangely. “You really don’t, do you?” she replied, and finally tugged the scarf free, wrapping it loosely back around her throat. He watched her, confused, until her hand dropped back and caught his once more, clinging tight. Her palm was warm, damp. Sweaty, her fingers shaking a little against his, like she was nervous.

But she couldn’t be, because Emily Prentiss was never scared of anything.

“Let’s leave the ghosts to their haunting,” she said, and pulled him away from the breach. “I think we have enough bad memories of our own without taking on theirs, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Aaron agreed, glancing back over his shoulder at the darkening night. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you about them…” It was a slip of the mouth, he hadn’t meant to say it, but she paused and he walked into her.

Dark eyes met his, endless.

In that heartbeat, he felt old and young all at once. Old because there was a grimness in her eyes he shouldn’t recognise, but did. The same in his own when he’d looked in the mirror, before Hogwarts and friends and this. Young, because he didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I’d like that,” she said simply, and they left that place.


	14. February 14th: A Complex Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 14th: **True Love**  - Your character's love for a person/thing knows no bounds. It is purer than a mountain stream and more beautiful than a supernova. _

Spencer was an intense kid to know, but Aaron hadn’t known just _how_ intense until now.

_He’s very quiet_ , the teachers all said, and Aaron was pretty sure he agreed. Most of the time.

_Studious,_ they would say, and that was true.

_Boring,_ the other students said.

That was completely false.

Aaron made a point not to go into the other kids’ rooms, even at home in Padfoot House. He was a prefect, older than most of them, and well… just _him_ , really, and that was enough reasons why he didn’t snoop. But today he had—he wasn’t sure why anymore, the sight that had met him was enough to push the thought out of his mind—maybe something to do with a textbook. Plus, Spencer was _aggressively_ private, sometimes, and always kept the door closed and jinxed to shout if they opened it. A jinx that Aaron had silenced.

It occurred to him, staring around in awe, that he didn’t know his youngest friend very well at all.

“Oh,” said a voice, and Aaron turned to find Spencer dressed in a Christmas sweater and antlers standing behind him looking horrified. Hugging a book to his thin chest. “You’re in my room.”

Aaron looked around again, his face flushing. “I just…” he said, and then stepped further in. “Spencer, why don’t you show us this? This… this is… _awesome_? Did you _make_ all these?”

Spencer blinked, hugging the book tighter. He looked confused.

“Yes, but,” he stammered, eyes skipping from teetering stack of books to teetering stack of books. The colour of the walls was a medley of parchment and ink and string tying it all together. Endless sketches, endless notes. A single framed painting of a wizened old man laughing at a misfiring wand, his hands clapping gleefully together. The desk was a pockmarked, scorched chaotic jumble of wood and what looked like potions ingredients: feathers and fur and hair and horn. And, hanging from the roof, were _wands_.

“I like wands,” Spencer mumbled, closing his eyes with his cheeks bright red. “I… Gideon helps me with them, sometimes. McGonagall, when she’s not busy. I…”

Aaron stayed silent.

_Quiet_ , the teachers said, but maybe they weren’t asking the right questions.

“Would you like to tell me about them?” he asked gently, inching to the unmade bed and sinking down. Spencer looked at him suspiciously. “I’d _really_ love to know, Spence, seriously. Do they work?”

And Spencer smiled. Shy at first, growing bigger. He looked up at them, the smile splitting his face into a giddy look of exaltation, and Aaron felt his heart kick with warmth. “ _Oh_ ,” Spencer breathed, jiggling in place. “Really? Yes! No, no, none of those really work. Some make sparks, but I’ve never made a working prototype, not yet. But, since Ollivander died, no one has really—look, these are his _real_ notes, he really wrote these, and there are cores, and over here—”

And Aaron listened.

There was a notebook tucked under Spencer’s pillow. As Spencer rambled and rambled and rambled about the thing he was _most_ passionate about, Aaron listened intently. He slipped the notebook out, opening the cover curiously.

_The Legerdemain Conspiracy_ said the front page, a sketched picture of seven wands crossed together. _Seven witches and wizards unite against dark forces._

“That’s a thing I was working on, it’s super silly,” Spencer said, noting the notebook. “Just a story. I sorta stopped it recently, started working on something else.”

Aaron flipped the page. “This is me,” he said dumbly, finding a sharp ink-profile of himself on the page. Except… older. Frownier. _Handsomer_ , and Aaron ran his hand through his hair self-consciously.

_Aaron,_ said the title. _Fir wood and dragon heart-string. What does this tell us? Ollivander’s notes state that it is the survivor’s wood—the most resilient of trees, demanding staying power. Poor tools in the hands of the changeable and indecisive and powerful in the art of Transfiguration. Anecdotally, this seems correct. He states that the wood favours owners of a focused and intimidating demeanour. Re: dragon heartstring – it’s flashy, highly magical. Dave has owl talon in his—a new trial material. What could Aaron do with a wand with the whisker of a cat (sense of the dark, navigation) or Transfiguration equals change but fir doesn’t like changeability, perhaps something to counter?_

“We’re all in there,” Spencer said, sitting on the bed and drawing his knees up. “I want to make wands, Aaron. I… I think I’d be good at it.”

Aaron turned the page.

_Emily’s wand is Applewood. Ollivander’s notes state that it’s an unusual wand—often borne by those who are gifted in conversing with other magical beings. Does she show an interest in this? Let her borrow books re: the subject. Perhaps she’d enjoy that. Kelpie hair core._

Emily’s drawing was… Aaron swallowed hard and felt a little flushed. It was… as lovely as she was. All sharp lines and angles with just the right curl to her cat-grin smile. Again, he turned the page.

_Dave – yew wood, owl talon. Owl talon is new—American wizard working on it, trying to bring in a new line of ‘mundane’ wands. Good idea, bad execution?? Dave’s wand is brilliant, but it’s NOT mundane. Yew never picks a mundane or timid owner—merely calling owl talon mundane is conflicting the yew (PS, yew for duelling, great protectors)_

_JJ – Aspen for duelling. Charm-work. She’s brilliant in charms. Not sure about duelling._

_Derek. Holly wood, jackalope antler. American wand cores making their way over here—must learn more._

_Penny – cedar wood, unicorn tail. Pen has trouble with her wand—must find why. Is she ill-matched? Something kinder might suit better. Cedar can be shocking._

“You’re not here,” Aaron murmured, finding a blank page. “What’s your wand?”

The wand in question was being rolled between Spencer’s narrow fingers, as he rubbed fingerprints from the light coloured wood.

“Hawthorn,” he answered finally. “I hate my wand.” Silence. Spencer swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice was shrill. “I think I want to go to bed now.”

“Okay,” Aaron handed the notebook back, carefully standing and moving to the door, aware that he’d stumbled onto something deeply personal. “Goodnight, Spence. And… I think you’re going to be an amazing wand-maker one day. Better than Ollivander even.”

Spencer smiled without looking up. “Thanks, Aaron.” Aaron closed the door between them, and hesitated. He could go to bed. Or…

He went to McGonagall’s library, the room warmly lit, and found the corner that Spencer favoured. There he found the book: _Wands and the Art of their Making by Mr. Garrick Ollivander._

And he read. And then he thought. And then he slid the book away, and went to bed, his heart aching, just a little.

He didn’t mention it again.

**_Hawthorn_ **

_The wand-maker Gregorovitch wrote that hawthorn ‘makes a strange, contradictory wand, as full of paradoxes as the tree that gave it birth, whose leaves and blossoms heal and yet whose cut branches smell of death.’ While I disagree with many of Gregorovitch’s conclusions, we concur about hawthorn wands, which are complex and intriguing in their natures, just like the owners who best suit them._

_Hawthorn wands may be particularly suited to healing magic, but they are also adept at curses, and I have generally observed that the hawthorn wand seems most at home with a conflicted nature, or with a witch or wizard passing through a period of turmoil. Hawthorn is not easy to master, however, and I would only ever consider placing a hawthorn wand in the hands of a witch or wizard of proven talent, or the consequences might be dangerous._

_Hawthorn wands have a notable peculiarity: their spells can, when badly handled, backfire._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wand info taken from Pottermore!


	15. February 15th: An Ingenious Wand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 15th: **Foldable**  - No one's battle gear would be complete without a nifty weapon!_

They jumped Spencer as he wandered alone through the grounds. A week in the hospital wing removing the mess of hexes they’d hit him with, compounded by the damage his own wand had done when he’d panicked and tried to curse them in return. It had backfired, striking him and doubling the effects of the attack.

He wasn’t taking visitors and the teachers were _livid_.

“This kind of behaviour will _not_ be tolerated,” McGonagall hissed to the silent great hall. “Any repeat occurrences will result in the potential for expulsion!”

But there were more.

_DIFFERENT FOR A REASON_ seared into the floor outside the Hufflepuff house. Two days later, the Ravenclaws woke to it _inside_ their common room, marring the white marble floor. Rowena stared down at it and Aaron fancied she looked incredibly disappointed. And the muttering grew. _Slytherins_ the rumours went, and Aaron was inclined to agree.

But…

“I don’t think it is,” Emily said, frustrated. She was pacing the grass, her hair tied back tight in a sleek ponytail and wearing the Ravenclaw-turned-Slytherin scarf around her neck despite the warm air. “I mean, I think _some_ of it is. It’s definitely Foyet, that slimy frog. But it’s escalating so _fast,_ it can’t just be him on his own.”

And escalate it did. A group of first years, mixed houses, were all hit by Stupefy jinxes and left propped up in the greenhouses for seven hours overnight. A third year Gryffindor had her belongings trashed and bed covered in feathers, the same cruel _different for a reason_ slashed into the four poster hangings. Her sister was a Ravenclaw. The two girls sat as far apart as possible the next morning at breakfast, both red-eyed and determinedly not looking at each other. The tables began to splinter. No one wanted to be targeted. Three more attacks. No one saw who did it, the increased teacher patrols did _nothing_.

“I’m not going to be frightened away from my friends,” Morgan snapped, plonking down heavily next to them and stabbing a sausage with extreme vitriol.

“Me neither,” said JJ, curled up beside him.

Dave just frowned and tapped his wand against his plate thoughtfully. When they got up to leave, they moved as a group and Emily held Aaron’s hand. There were eyes on them. They walked the girls to their class and then, reluctantly, went their own ways.

The halls felt empty as Aaron strode towards Transfiguration. Senses alive for a shriek or a sob from any quarter, running feet or the sound of wands. He was a prefect, it was his _job_ to protect the students as well. All of the students.

_Thump thump thump_ came the sound of feet behind him, and he whirled with his wand out and almost poked Spencer in the eye.

“Aaron, hey,” Spencer breathed. His hair was wild, his robes in disarray, and he was carrying a long box. “I, um. I’m out of the hospital wing. And I made these, here. One for you.”

He cracked the box open and Aaron peered in. Seven wands looked back up at him.

“They’re trick wands,” Spencer explained, picked one up and handing it to him. “Well, sort of. I borrowed the core design from George Weasley—he said he’d buy them from me if I got them right and I did, but I’m not selling them yet—and then bound them together.”

“Wow, Spence,” Aaron breathed, tracing his fingers over the wand. Inside, he could feel a complex hum of magic. Whatever Spencer had done, it was _complicated._ “This is incredible. These are incredible. What do they do?”

“Uh, not much, actually. I couldn’t get them to do _real_ spells, but what they do do is this…” Spencer picked another one out, holding it flat in his palm. “Jinx me.”

Aaron glanced around for teachers, before disarming Spencer silently with his real wand. Wordless spellcasting was his latest focus; all the better to move silently around the halls. He was trying to teach Emily, with mixed results.

The weak spell landed and Spencer twitched as it tickled over him. In his pocket, his wand twitched listlessly. The fake wand didn’t move.

But the one in Aaron’s hand began to spin, heating on his palm and pointing direct at Spencer.

“If one of us is attacked, the other wands will alert us,” Spencer said, and smiled. “And take us right to them. Cool, huh? Only McGonagall knows I’m working on them here—and she doesn’t know about these seven. I have a prototype that she checks over to make sure I’m not messing them up.”

Aaron looked down at the wand and grinned. “Awesome,” he said, folding his fingers around the smooth, white wood. “How do we deactivate them once we’re safe?”

“Like this.” Spencer took his fake wand out and held it out, loose in his fingers. There was a tiny carving in the end by his thumb—Aaron squinted and saw a miniscule hare. “Hold them together and say ‘Legerdemain’.”

Aaron did. The wand cooled. He looked down, blinking when he saw the wolf appearing on his own wand, chest arched protectively. “What’s this?” he asked, and showed his friend.

“Dunno.” Spencer shrugged, peering at his own. “The others don’t have it. It just appeared, the first time I used my wand. I think they bond to their holder, somehow. I’m trying to replicate it with the prototype so I can ask McGonagall, but no luck yet.” Aaron put it out of his mind. They’d work it out later. For now, they had to get these wands to their friends.

See if anyone could split them up now. They _wouldn’t_ be intimidated.


	16. February 16th: A Preparatory Defence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 16th: **Better**  - Together we can defeat the enemy! Some of us can do that better than others, though._

The wands spurred Aaron into action.

“We meet here, every night after class,” he told his friends firmly, shoving aside the desks in the empty classroom McGonagall had given him permission to use for ‘study groups’. His friends watched, all faces wary. “And we’re learning self-defence. _All_ of us.”

“Every night?” Emily said, looking horrified. “When can we just _hang?_ ”

“But we have so much homework, Aaron, and OWLs coming up…” JJ added.

“What a drag,” moaned Dave.

Spencer said nothing, just cocked his chin up and looked determined. Flagging behind them all on his technical spellcasting, the kid was a _whiz_ at making wands but utterly useless at anything even approaching defensive _or_ offensive. He might as well tape a scroll to his back reading ‘sitting duck’. JJ and Penelope weren’t much better.

“Alright, defence arts!” Morgan added with a whoop, leaping up. Penelope just crossed her legs behind him and frowned, glancing down at the two wands crossed in her lap. Her own real one, always tentative with following her directions, and the trick wand with an etched lioness curled around the end. “I’m top of my class, Blake says so. Reckon she’ll let me get hold of some six and seventh year books to work on?”

“You do that,” Aaron told him. “The rest of us should get up to speed on this year’s spells, plus some others Gideon told me are integral to the duelling witch or wizard. Spencer, you, Penelope, and JJ all need remedial work on your defensive spellcasting. If someone tries to jinx you, you’re all completely unprotected.”

“I’ll help them,” said Emily softly, her complaints silenced now that she’d clicked that this was very much training for their smaller friends’ benefit, not her own.

Spencer found them a list of spells to learn. Some of them were useful. Some were not. Some were just plain _cool_.

“Did you just pick the most complicated spells possible?” Dave complained, skimming the list. “Patronuses? We don’t learn those until seventh year—and when are we gonna need to fight against a Dementor in _school_?”

“They can be used to pass messages,” Spencer explained, holding out the textbook he was working through. Behind them, JJ cried out in frustration as Emily disarmed her again with a lazy flick of her wand. She was _not_ getting the hang of this, or maybe Em had been the wrong person to pair with her. Strength-wise, Emily outstripped them all by leagues, even if she was over-confident and dangerously slapdash. Aaron switched his attention back to Spencer as he continued: “Plus, many other uses. They’re literal protectors and, while complicated to cast, the spell isn’t inherently dangerous to practise even when the caster is low-levelled, unlike some other protections.”

Letting JJ breathe while Dave and Spencer bickered over patronuses, Emily slipped over to her bag and then to Aaron as he scribbled notes about his own list of spells to learn. A light shield charm… hexes that made noise would alert teachers, which would be preferable to long-lasting defensive duelling…

“Aaron,” she said, and crouched by his knee. He twitched, glancing at her and feeling his mouth go dry as she leaned on his leg and smiled at him. “I found this for you.”

He took the book. _Transfiguring for Duellists_ it read, and he blinked and cracked it open. “On the fly Transfiguration fell out of favour over fifty years ago,” Spencer said, ignoring Dave to turn and peer at the book. “Which is… probably a really good plan, Em. No one will be expecting defensive Transfiguration at a school level.”

“And if anyone can do it, you can,” Emily finished, her fingers tracing his leg through his jeans. He flushed, mumbling a rough _thanks_ and pulling the book closer with a trembling hand. Pride and nausea battled for supremacy in his chest and she stood, her hair brushing his shoulder…

“But I’m not spending my afternoons practising _shield charms_ ,” she tossed back with a cocky snort. “I’ll curse the first brat who tries to jump me, you watch.” The next three hours were spent arguing with her over the merits of a strong defence over a vicious offence, and he almost forgot to be giddy. Almost.

“Maybe I should change my focus as well…” Spencer murmured, and delved back into his books. Abandoned at his side, his wand lay untouched. He hadn’t even _tried_ to cast anything that involved it, instead making excuses that he was studying to help the rest of them, that he’d get to it later. Aaron made a mental note to talk to him. If the wand backfiring had scared him out of spellwork, it would probably be better that they tackled that now before the behaviour could cement into real anxiety…

But then Emily called him back, daring him to ‘shield against my curses, I dare you’ and the thought slipped his mind.

He’d talk to Spencer. Later.


	17. February 17th: A Calamitous Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 17th: **KO**  - A character gets knocked out by the enemy and wakes to one of their comrades looking at them like this._

_You should have made the deal, Aaron,_ was the last thing he remembered. They’d just been walking. Hadn’t they? No… he was… patrolling? Somewhere. The world flickered into focus around him once. Hazy. Distorted. A whitish fog of pain and red that pressed against his eyes. Someone loomed overhead. He fumbled for his wand with a hand that didn’t want to hand anymore. His pocket was hot. He blinked. Blinked again. Spencer came into view. Bug-eyed and panicking. Bleeding. _Bat-bogey hex,_ Aaron thought dreamily, spotting a weird misshapen slant to the kid’s ear. _Ow._

“Aaron?” Spencer squeaked. From overhead, Aaron heard a furious snarl. He knew that snarl.

“You fucks!” screamed Emily, and something exploded.

_Atta-girl_ , Aaron thought, as a shield charm snapped into place around them. _Atta…_

Nothing.


	18. February 18th: A Midnight Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 18th: **Moo**  -  **Super Saturday** \- Saddle up, pardners! We're goin' for a ride in the Wild West today. The baddies are comin' in and, sure as shootin', your Character's the only one that can stop 'em! **+** Y'all better get ready, there's a showdown at high noon! **+** If all else fails, Character can always call on their faithful steed for a little help. **+** It ain't no western if'n the heroes don't get to ride off into the sunset._

_If you want to find out what happened to your friend, meet where the Willow used to stand. Midnight. See you there, pretty snake._

It was stupid. So stupid. Absolutely inconceivably stupid, and Aaron would kick her arse if he found out she was going. But she was going.

Fuck yes she was going.

These bastards were going to _burn_ for hurting him.

“This is stupid,” Spencer muttered, trotting after her as they slipped through the halls. It was midnight, the castle silent. Not that the castle was loud anymore anyway. After the crackdown on _everything_ McGonagall had slammed the students with after Aaron was hurt… “Seriously, Em, we don’t know who cast that spell… we don’t know if they got expelled with McCauley and Willet, we don’t know if this is them, and we _don’t_ know what they want.”

“Shh,” she murmured, crouching as shadows flickered ahead. A teacher patrolling. Wands weren’t allowed out in the corridors anymore, but hers was in her hand. Spencer’s wasn’t. “Get your wand out. We’re almost outside.”

He glared at her. They were both Disillusioned, their footsteps magically muffled. “No,” he hissed, and glanced around worriedly. She regretted bringing him, but she knew she couldn’t go alone and he was the only one who wouldn’t lose his head. Plus, the little shit had worked out she was planning something and stuck to her like glue. “Em, this person is _dangerous_ —”

She didn’t listen, bolting ahead and out the door. He followed. As soon as the great doors snicked shut, she whirled on him in the chill of the night.

“I know that!” she spat, anger and rage and just _everything_ welling up in her chest. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe for a moment, closing her eyes against the remember burn of the trick wand searing through her pocket, running to them, finding Aaron like _that_. “Spencer, we have to go!”

“Tell a teach—” he began.

“They _obliviated_ him,” she managed, the words crushing her. “His back was turned and they _obliviated him_ , Spence. Don’t you want _revenge_ for that? He’s in Mungo’s for crying out loud—they put our friend in the hospital, and you want to _hide_?”

But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t what was scaring her.

“It was an Unforgivable,” Spencer corrected quietly, his eyes glassy behind his thick lenses. He looked terrified. “They don’t know who cast the Unforgivable, Em. That’s why he’s so hurt.”

They’d used Imperius on him. If it hadn’t been for McCauley’s and two other obliviates hitting him at the same time…

“You two are fucking idiots,” snarled a voice from the darkness by the doors, and she whirled and put herself between Spencer and that voice, wand sparking red. Dave stepped out, his face white and pinched in the moonlight. Morgan followed, unfolding from the bushes. Behind him, she could see JJ kneeling in the dirt, and Penelope.

“Knew you were up to something,” Dave snapped, glaring at Spencer. “You do realize this isn’t schoolyard antics anymore, right? You realize that this person is _not fucking around?_ ”

Emily swallowed once. And again. And once more, her throat fighting her and her eyes burning. They didn’t know if he was gonna be okay. They didn’t know if he’d wake up. They just didn’t _know_.

“We can’t let anyone else get hurt,” she managed thickly, and saw Dave’s face shift. “A-Aaron… wouldn’t want that…” Fuck. She was fucking crying.

“We go together,” said the most unexpected voice. They all looked at him. Spencer’s expression was set, his hands folded in front. “All of us. I can scout ahead… he… he won’t see me coming. I promise.”

“Six against one?” JJ murmured. “We stand a good chance of stopping him.”

“Damn good chance,” Penelope added. When she moved into the light, Emily realized she wasn’t the only one crying. And she remembered—Aaron lived with Pen. They were friends.

They were all friends.

“You sure you’ll be safe?” she asked Spencer, who nodded and glanced to the bushes. “How do we know?”

He held out his trick wand. “This,” he said with a smile, and began to move towards the bushes. “Give me… five minutes. And then follow. I’ll make sure he’s there and I’ll loop back to get you guys.”

There one minute, gone the next, they blinked and the bushes seemed to swallow him up. Not even footsteps sounded.

“Showdown,” said Dave coolly. “We’re genuine cowboys now, guys. Wands out at dawn.”

“Well, I am American,” said Emily, and then walked boldly forward. She _wasn’t_ giving Spencer five minutes alone in the lion’s mouth. “Come on. No one make a sound. He can only see me.” Dave caught her as she passed, his fingers digging painfully into her elbow. She jerked back, almost choking herself on Aaron’s scarf wrapped loosely around her throat. “What?”

“Don’t get hurt proving a point,” Dave murmured, pressing close. There was none of his usual humour in his eyes, his mouth an intent line. “Just… don’t. I know how you feel about Aaron. And I _know_ he feels the same. Kid doesn’t shut up about you, you know? So if he wakes up and you’ve done something… well, Davish, he’s gonna blame me. And I don’t want to deal with him frowning at me for eternity, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, only slightly lying, and he released her arm. “But don’t you let me down, Rossi.”

He grinned. “I already haven’t,” he said, and moved back with a cocky bounce to the bushes they’d been hiding in and emerging once more with his broom in hand. “Keep a hand on this and if he tries anything, get the fuck outta there. He wants _you_. He didn’t send any of us messages—we’ll surround him, but you need to get out fast if he tries something.”

She was stunned. “You’re going to let me use your _broom_?” she gasped, staring at him. He didn’t even let _Aaron_ use his broom.

“Better my broom than your neck,” he replied pertly, and thrust it at her. “Come on. I don’t know what Squeaky Spencer is planning, but I always get nervous when he does things.”

She took it. The handle was warm. And she wiped the tears from her face. They weren’t going to help her now.

Time for a showdown.

She walked to the place where the tree used to stand with Dave’s broom in hand and her wand in the other. Around her, there was silence. She knew he was here. And she knew who it was.

Spence had popped up, covered in leaves and blinking rapidly, hissing _it’s Foyet—he’s not alone!_ before vanishing again.

“Don’t go out there,” JJ had murmured, but Emily hadn’t gotten this reckless by being _smart_.

“Hi, Em,” Foyet said, sprawled on the hillock of earth covered the tree’s burnt stump. “Surprised you’re here. _Alone._ ” He seemed alone. _Seemed_.

As soon as she walked towards Foyet, Doyle appeared behind her. She glanced at him, rolled her eyes, looked back to Foyet. _Worm_.

“Hi, Emily,” Doyle said, and smiled coldly. She repressed a shudder, barely. Creep.

“You sick fuck,” she snapped, turning on Foyet. “What were you planning, huh? Imperius? Going to make him do something to get him expelled or arrested, make the muggleborns look bad? You’ll be facing worse than expulsion for this. This is _criminal_.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I would have _loved_ to be the man to fry your pretty boy’s brains,” Foyet replied, standing. She levelled her wand at his crotch. See if he tried anything _now_. “But that wasn’t me, lovey. And it wasn’t because of _Aaron_.”

She blinked.

She’d miscalculated.

She turned, right as Doyle lifted his wand.

“You should have been mine,” he said furiously. “ _Imper—”_

The broom, tucked under her arm and disillusioned—absolutely invisible in the dark—saved her. She threw herself over it, urging it forward before she was even on properly. It shot forward, too low, the tail catching a tree root and sending her flying to slam into the muddy ground, breath rasping. But the spell missed, and chaos erupted around her.

“Obliviate her!” Foyet snarled, as she staggered up. “Oh, never mind, I’ll— _obliviate_!”

She was too winded to roll out the way. Just blinked as the spell blasted towards her, and something shot between them. Small and fast and it squeaked when the spell struck them both, halving the impact.

For a second, the world went strange. Foggy and white. But only a second, and her head cleared. On the ground with the small thing limp on her lap. Everything hurt. Still not entirely sure what was happening, her entire side throbbing, she heard someone roar. Her wand was gone in the darkness, her head swimming from where it had hit the ground. Grabbing the small thing and flopping it over one arm, she _ran_ and dived into the tree-line, someone chasing her.

Another boy surged overhead, standing over her. She screamed with shock, not sure if he was her friend or— “I’ve got this,” he barked, and spells began whipping around.

Friend then. She regretted screaming.

She peered to the side to see a glowing silver lioness streaking towards the castle, even as someone yelled with pain. A blonde girl was a blur of white pyjamas and sparking wands as she duelled with the boy who’d thrown the spell at her, pressing him back and back against the trees.

From the castle, she heard shouting. Running feet. Emily curled her knees closer to her chest, realizing the throb of adrenaline was fading and leaving her arm oddly numb. She looked down, scanning the weird angle of it, the fluffy thing flopped overtop. Uh oh. McGonagall appeared, staring down at her. Double uh oh. Her head hurt. Maybe the spell _had_ gotten her a little. The small thing in her lap suddenly got heavier, struggling against her grip and jolting her wonky arm.

“Ow,” said the small thing, now a boy with his face all furry and his mouth weird still, and his glasses were broken. McGonagall’s eyebrows rocketed up. “Oh… uh oh.”

“It was him,” Emily said, and pointed to the boy battling the blonde girl. It felt very important that she say this. “He hurt Aaron.”

She remembered Aaron.

“Do not move,” said McGonagall to the both of them, and strode away.

“I think we’re in trouble,” whispered the boy. He began to shiver.

“Probably,” she agreed, and hugged him with her good arm. Memories began to trickle back. Aaron, on the floor. Doyle’s sneering face. The _misery_ of the last few months. “But, Worth it.”

Maybe.


	19. February 19th: An Intriguing Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 19th: **You**  - I like you. No, not you, you! (Who is also you.)_

Boring. Bored, bored, bored, bored, _bored_. Everything was boring. The white walls were boring, the white blankets and sheets were boring, the oddly white-robed doctors were boring. Everything here was boring.

Well, almost everything.

The people who visited him, now _they_ , they weren’t boring at all. They were _interesting._ He wasn’t actually sure who they were, although he knew they’d told him multiple times and were getting a little pissed off that he couldn’t seem to retain that information. Some of them. The little kid with the glasses and the buck teeth didn’t seem to mind repeating himself, nor did the larger girl with the blonde hair and pink stars on her robes. The boy with an amusingly scruffy attempt at facial hair kept calling him names every time he messed up though, and the first time he’d asked the pretty girl with the endless eyes who she was, she’d burst into furious tears.

And then hit him.

He touched his arm where she’d punched him and grinned a little. Well, it was an affectionate punch. He thought. Maybe? But he was a little sick of constantly being scowled at by them, so he began working to try and work out who they were. Surely he could do this. There wasn’t much else to do in this boring bed, so he may as well look at their behaviour and see what kinda clues he could read from it.

The purple-star girl brought him his own clothes from home—he knew they were his because they _smelled_ like him, weirdly, and made his heart ache a little. She came with glasses-McShortie and an older woman, so that was simple enough. His siblings, clearly. He felt a bit bad for calling the short guy buck-teeth once he worked out that he was clearly the kid’s big brother, so to make up for it he decided he’d be a proper brother to him. And _that_ at least was something he remembered how to do.

“Come on,” he said, wiggling over on the bed and patting it. Shorty looked up at him, blinking behind his glasses. Were his teeth smaller today? He couldn’t tell. “Sit up with me, kiddo. This book is awesome, let me read it to you.” He looked a bit old for stories, but it was worth a go.

The kid’s eyes got all big and shiny and he leapt over, almost squeaking with excitement. He felt rather smug about that. Clearly he was an _awesome_ big brother. For his sister, he let her fuss as much as she liked and smiled at her a lot. That was a thing brothers did, right? For the older lady—she was thin-faced and didn’t smile much, and she looked constantly sad when she looked at him—he assumed maybe she was their aunt. Or a grandma. Which meant she was probably sad that he’d gotten hurt in the first place, hence the down face.

“I’m sorry I got hurt,” he told her one day when they were alone. “It wasn’t your fault though, honest. Please don’t feel bad.” When she shot him a startled look, he inched out of the bed and gave her a hug. She returned it, stiffly. Maybe they weren’t a huggy family. Oops. “Thank you for everything,” he added on the end, just to be sure she knew how touched he was that they were here for him.

She looked a bit teary herself when she left. Score two: he was clearly also an _awesome_ grandson.

The scruffy boy? Now that was a bit harder. He _was_ huggy. Kept scrambling up into the bed and getting all close, slinging an arm around his shoulders like it belonged there. And he yammered, constantly, about not only the inanest stuff, but _personal_ things too. They were clearly very, very close.

_Best friends?_ he wondered to himself. _Dating?_

But he didn’t feel attracted to the boy, and he didn’t think losing his memory would change that.

_Best friends,_ he decided finally, and returned the boy’s exuberant affections.

“Dude, don’t hug,” the boy said, shooting him a weird look. “You don’t touch, I touch. You touching is weird.”

“Oh,” he said, and dropped his arm. Maybe he wasn’t a very good best friend.

And the girl… she was a weird one. She shouted at him, _all the time_ , and got mad for the dumbest things. He dropped his cup once and she stormed out and refused to visit for a week. She wore a ratty green and blue and silver scarf that looked like its colours were beginning to drip off the end. But she listened when he talked, so he decided that maybe _their_ friendship was based around him… sharing?

So he shared. He didn’t really have much to share, since his brain was about as useful to him as a broken tap at this point, but he tried. He told her about the vague memories he had of a white room filled with books and a snowy hole in a castle wall. He told her about magic, laughing a little because, how silly was _that_? Magic didn’t exist.

She cried when he said that, so he quickly changed the subject to something nicer.

“So, I’ve worked out that I have siblings and a best friend and a grandma,” he announced this day, picking his way through a plate of jelly. She just blinked with those dark, dark eyes, and watched him silently. “And I’ve worked out pretty much that I love them, you know, and forgetting them didn’t change that. And I think there are others? Like, I remember others. Do I have a girlfriend?”

She twitched a little. “No,” she said shortly.

“Oh.” That didn’t feel right. He offered her some jelly from his spoon. She cocked an eyebrow and took it, scowling at the wobbly blue. “I think I do. Maybe she doesn’t know you? Because I dream a bit of a girl but I never see her face and I feel about her like I do about my friend and my siblings but _more_ , somehow. You know?”

“No,” she said again, and handed back the spoon. He dug back into his jelly happily. “They’re dreams, Aaron.”

“Aaron, oh yeah,” he said, and her face turned furious again. “I mean, yeah, I remember that’s my name,” he lied quickly, and shoved more jelly into his mouth to hide his mistake. “But, yeah no. I don’t think they’re dreams. Because sometimes we hug and that doesn’t feel like dreams, it feels _real_. I think I remember hugging her? Or touching her. I remember loving her, anyway, and thinking she’s the most beautiful girl.” He stopped, wistful. The girl took the spoon and the bowl and began eating without looking at him. “Just, I wish she’d visit. Because I’d really like to see her… I’m worried maybe she got hurt when I did.”

The girl’s head snapped up. There was a bruise on her temple. Aaron wondered who’d done it, and felt his chest go a little tight and angry. “She didn’t,” she reassured him, and then smiled. “But she might visit soon. You should tell me more about her, hey? What do you remember?”

Aaron settled back as she handed back the bowl. “Well,” he said, pleased that the girl didn’t seem mad anymore. “She’s probably the smartest girl I know. Not person though, that doesn’t feel right, so I guess there’s a smarter guy in my life somewhere… and she drives me mad. Absolutely batty, but I kinda like it…”

“Interesting,” said the girl, sounding intrigued, and shifted from her chair to his bed. “Move over, nutcase. I’m freezing.” She scooted under the blankets with him as he kept talking, his fingers automatically finding the end of the scarf to fiddle with.

“She’s an amazing flyer but so damn aggravating and…” Aaron stopped, frowning at the end of the scarf.

“And?” she asked, pressing closer. Warm and soft against his side. He swallowed, looking at her and then back at the scarf, at the carefully stitched AH in it. He remembered stitching that in. This was _his_ scarf. “Aaron?”

“You shouldn’t be wearing this,” he said distantly, tugging the scarf from her throat and holding it gently. “You’ll get picked on, Em.”

“Oh,” said Emily, and peered at his face. “ _Oh_. Hello, you. Welcome back.”

He blinked. “Oh shit,” he said, memories rushing back. “She’s… you. You’re the girl. And you’ve eaten all my jelly.”

“Aw,” she said, and tapped her wand against a light on the edge of the bed. It lit up, summoning a healer. “Damn. I’m going to miss chatty Aaron.”

But she smiled and smiled and smiled, tears in her eyes again, and he thought maybe this time they were happy.


	20. February 20th: A Maladjusted Mood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 20th: **Infiltrate**  - Image prompt._

They were in trouble again. And by _they,_ of course, he meant Dave and Emily. And, once again, he was smugly sitting beside them as they glumly scrubbed every statue in the castle clean. Without magic. One of the perks of being a prefect that McGonagall trusted; watching over detentions.

“I’m curious how you did it,” he said, kicking his foot against the wall from his perch in the window alcove above them. Dave, working busily over the nape of a statue’s neck, scowled more. “Well, I’m curious how _Emily_ did it. Dave, doesn’t it suck that you got busted for something you didn’t even manage to do?”

“Not from lack of trying,” Dave whined, flicking water from his cloth at Emily. She rolled her eyes at him. “She _cheated.”_

“I did not cheat,” Emily replied pertly, bending over to swipe some dirty water from her statue’s toes. Aaron glanced at her, glanced away, glanced back, and _blushed_. Not that he was looking. He wasn’t, _honest_. “I just took advantage of the resources available to me.” She shuffled forward, crouching on her feet with her knees to her chest, and Aaron looked away and studied the window intently so he wasn’t tempted to examine the way her jeans clung so nicely to her hips. Dave, on the other hand, because he was a dumbass and totally not smart enough to realize that she’d jinx him clear into next week if she saw him looking, was examining quite openly.

Aaron frowned.

Frowned some more when his friend didn’t notice.

And then, because his frowning wasn’t working and because he was a prefect— _and that was the only reason—_ he silently transfigured a hole into the bottom of Dave’s bucket, spilling water all over him.

“Maybe you shouldn’t make dares you can’t win,” Aaron sniped, pissy still even as Dave yelped and spluttered as the bucket hanging from the statue’s arm dumped its contents onto his shoulder and side. “Just accept that she’s better than you.”

Both of them looked at him, blinking.

“Well, _that_ was bitchy,” Emily said, eyebrows rocketing up. “Also true. But really bitchy. What did you do, Dave?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Dave sneezed, shaking water from his eyes. “Argh, fucking buck—” He stopped and narrowed his eyes at Aaron.

Aaron frowned.

“You know she only won the dare because she used Spencer, right?” Dave said after a beat. Emily squeaked indignantly, waving her hands at him in a clear _shut up shut up motion_ , but Dave refused to be shutted. “The dare was to see who could sneak into the teacher’s lounge while they were in there and get something from there as proof without getting busted—she sent _Spencer_ in there. That’s not even winning! She didn’t go in!”

“You used Spencer?” Now Aaron was pissed at her too, irritation sparking in his gut. How _could_ she? That was… completely irresponsible! “Emily, he’s younger than us. We’re supposed to be _role models_. How did you even use him!?”

Emily was staring at Dave with a sharp look in her eyes that _promised_ the guy would be lacking vital body parts by the end of the day. Dave, to his credit, had a look on his face that suggested he realized just how much he’d fucked up.

“I just asked,” Emily muttered through gritted teeth. “Kid is old enough that he can say _no,_ you know. You don’t need to parent him.”

Anger flickered again. It wasn’t a surprising anger. A headache was building in the back of his skull, throbbing and throbbing and reminding him that he wasn’t quite one hundred percent over the effects of the spells he’d been hit with. His moods were scattered, he tired easily, his head _hurt_ all the time, and his friends were being _pricks_.

“Maybe I wouldn’t need to parent him if you lot would grow the fuck up,” he snapped, and saw them both shoot him hurt looks. Fine. _Fine,_ whatever, they deserved it! “I _know_ you did something while I was in hospital and I _know_ he got hurt—you lot won’t tell me, but I bet it was one of your ideas, wasn’t it?”

Silence. The two glanced at each other warily, sidling closer to each other. Ranged against him.

They made a great pair.

Fine.

“Whatever,” Aaron muttered, and got up. “ _Fine._ ”

He stormed off, anger twisting his gut and the trick wand in his pocket digging into his hand. He wasn’t _moody_. His friends were just… urgh.

Whatever.


	21. February 21st: A Salacious Find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 21st: **Picture**  - One of your characters carries a picture in their pocket. Someone sees it._

It wasn’t really a fight. Just… well, it wasn’t a fight. But since that day, _everyone_ was tiptoeing around Aaron. He was beginning to feel invisible, even when surrounded by his friends, like the spell hadn’t just taken his memories away but also whatever part of him was fun and integral and _liked_. And he hadn’t meant to snap, hadn’t really meant what he’d said, but…

He’d meant it a little.

Mostly, he was just sorry. And he didn’t know how to say that.

Breaking point came as the year began to ground to a close. Another year gone. They’d be sixth years soon… that was a weird thought. And a scary one. Aaron didn’t want to think of what came _after_ , not when he wasn’t even entirely sure that he was managing to hang onto what he had now.

It wasn’t unusual that they’d gather in one of the common rooms. Interhouse friendships were encouraged, although access to the dorms was restricted to each students’ respective house, so they took turns visiting each other to hang out when the weather was crappy outside. Like today, with rain beating steadily against all the windows and winds that blew against unprotected skin and made everyone hunch into their robes.

They even visited Emily, the Slytherin house becoming a damn sight more welcoming once Foyet was removed from it.

Today, they were in Hufflepuff. Today, they were huddled around the fire as Spencer and Derek played exploding snap and argued cheerfully about cauldrons. Emily and JJ were working on an essay together, discussing the OWLs that they’d taken the week before. Aaron was steadfastly not thinking about their OWLs. Things that should have been easy hadn’t come as quickly as they usually would, and he was beginning to think that maybe he should have taken McGonagall’s offer to delay them until after the healers said he was completely better…

But he hadn’t told his friends he was struggling, because he wasn’t sure they really wanted to know.

Dave, with no regard for decorum, was sprawled out asleep on the couch with his mouth open and his arms thrown back. Snoring. Aaron hunched over, a book on his knees and on the outskirts again. Every time he glanced at his friends, they either looked quickly away or weren’t looking at all.

“What’s that?” Spencer said suddenly, reaching for a slip of paper on the floor next to Dave. Aaron looked at it disinterestedly, registering that it was a photo of some kind, the person in it moving around cheekily in front…

He blinked, and registered a lot more skin than he’d expected.

“ _Accio_!” Emily barked, her wand suddenly in her hand and the photo zooming out from under Spencer’s grasping fingers. “Dave, you pervy ho!”

Dave jerked awake as JJ began to laugh helplessly, the photo held between Emily’s fingers like she expected it was going to explode. “Wha-huh?” he babbled, wiping his mouth and blinking around sleepily. Penelope appeared as though she’d been summoned, expression turning gleeful as she saw the picture. “Hey—oi! Give that back!”

“Aha, check it!” hollered Emily, leaping up with a whoop. “Look at the tits—”

“Em!” hissed JJ, with a glance at the astoundingly puzzled looking Spencer. “Shh!”

“Why does Dave have a picture of birds in his pocket?” Spencer asked, blinking. They all looked at him. “Tits, like… birds… like… _oh_.” He turned a remarkable shade of red. “Oh dear. _Why_?”

“Oh baby, sweetie,” Penelope said, swooping in and snatching the picture up to examine it more closely. “I really don’t think you want to ask _these_ people _that_ question…”

“It’s art!” Dave said loudly, wand out. “And I’ll have it back, thanks.”

The conversation dissolved into bickering. And Aaron just watched. On the outside looking in. Eventually, he got up and left the room. No one saw him go. It was raining and cold and he didn’t belong, so he went to bed early and didn’t sleep at all.


	22. February 22nd: A Familiar Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 22nd: **Unwavering**  - Why do we fight? We fight to protect them. They may be different people to each of us, but without them we wouldn't be here, we wouldn't be doing these horrible things._

There was a river that run behind Hogsmeade, winding through the open fields that bordered the town. It was a gentle slope that was cool even in the heat of summer, thickly shaded by fronds of willows and the ever-present hum of dragonflies. Aaron spent a lot of time here those holidays, ignoring those who came to pester him.

Hermit found him first. Emily’s owl, sharp as a tack, had never failed to find a target. Not once. Every week, like clockwork, Aaron would curl up in the sprawling roots of a tree with a book on his knee, and Hermit would appear to drop another thick letter onto his lap. Aaron refused to read any of them, tucking them into a crook in the trunk of a tree and ignoring them.

Spencer found him next. Aaron was pretty sure he’d followed Hermit. But the kid wasn’t stupid, far from it, and he didn’t approach. Just sat downriver a bit and poked shapes in the mud with the tip of his wand.

Tobias and Penelope found him next and pestered and pestered and pestered until finally he blew up and told them to fuck off and find someone else to mother. McGonagall grounded him for it, but quite frankly, it was _annoying_. They didn’t care… so why bother?

On this day, he was trying to wedge yet another letter into the overfull trunk of the tree, and a stick cracked behind him. Aaron huffed angrily. Damn Spencer. Kid was the only one who seemed to refuse to take his anger personally, just as doggedly determined to find what was bothering Aaron as Aaron was determined not to tell him.

“Go _away_ , Spencer,” Aaron snapped, thumping his head onto the tree-trunk. “I’m _sick_ of you and Emily and Dave being so fu—”

“Fun?” said a voice, deep and amused. Aaron froze. He knew that voice. That wasn’t Spencer’s voice. “I assume you’re about to say fun, because I really don’t think you’re the type to swear at someone you barely know, Mr. Hotchner.”

Aaron turned, flushing red and fumbling his wand back into his pocket. “Professor Potter,” he stammered, blinking at the Auror standing there watching him. His eyes skittered up, tracing the tell-tale sign of the lightning bolt scar under his hairline. “And I’m sorry, sir, I, uh…”

“Harry is fine,” the man corrected him, striding over and flopping down onto the bank of the river. “No need to call me sir.” For some reason, he smiled as he said this, his green eyes creased with hidden laughter. For a long, awkward moment he stared at the river, saying nothing. Aaron shuffled, unsure of what to say.

“Um,” Aaron managed finally, earning a glance. “I don’t know… why you’re here.”

“Well, here by this river or here in this town, or…” Harry paused, the smile returning. “…or here on this earth, which honestly, is really quite a complicated question and not at all the type for such a nice day. Chocolate frog?” He offered the sweet from the depths of his robes, seemingly unconcerned when Aaron shook his head. “Simplest answer, Minerva has asked my assistance with your young friend. We had to get all kinds of permissions to allow him to use magic within the confines of Padfoot House; it seems the lad has a bit of anxiety going on with his wandwork. I’ve worked with the type before—although usually fairly older—so we thought I might give it a bash with him.”

That didn’t really explain why he was _here_ and not up at the house with Spencer.

“Part of helping him with his fears involves Legilimency,” Harry continued calmly. “But I couldn’t get past his surface concerns to get to the deeper ones.”

“Surface concerns?” Aaron asked, and Harry looked at him. “Oh. Me?”

A slow nod.

Aaron looked down at his hands, picking some dirt out from under his nails to avoid having to stare up into that green gaze. “I don’t know why he’s worried about me.”

“Because he loves you,” Harry said plainly. Aaron must have pulled a face, because he raised an eyebrow in return. “Aaron, when I was your age, I was in a war. Do you know what got me through that war?”

Aaron thought of the stories he’d heard and the memorial and the breach in the wall. Almost involuntarily, he thought of Emily and her hand on his, the scarf twined around it. And looked away again, because he wasn’t really sure just how much of his mind Harry could see in his eyes.

“Your magic,” Aaron said, squeezing his hand around his wand. “And your mum’s love. Everyone knows that.” Almost bitterly, he added: “But that’s got nothing to do with me and Spencer.”

“There are more wars than good vs. evil,” Harry said quietly. “And they’re fought with more than magic. You were half-right. Love is absolutely what won us that war, Aaron. Love for our friends, our family, our home. And all of those things, our entire world, was threatened. But you know what’s an even tougher battle to fight?”

“What?” Aaron couldn’t keep the surly tone from his voice.

“The small ones. The ones that are so small and every day we don’t even realize how important they are. Like replying to a friend’s letter even though we’re not sure if they want us to. Or smiling at our family over breakfast so they know we’re okay. Or asking for help.”

Aaron swallowed hard and it hurt. “I don’t have family.”

And there it was. He’d gotten his memories back, his life, and he’d _lost_ something.  For those few weeks he’d been sick… just for those few weeks… he’d had a grandma and a brother and a _sister_.

And now he had nothing again. On the outside… alone.

“I think,” Harry said softly, and held out his hand. “That you’re very, very wrong there. Come with me.”

Aaron hesitated only a moment before taking it and feeling the tug of apparition kick out his legs from under him. 


	23. February 23rd: An Unanticipated Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 23rd: **Weapon**  - The enemy deploys their secret weapon._

Harry took him…

Well. To… Dave’s?

“Why are we here?” Aaron asked slowly, brushing mud from his jeans and blinking around at the sunny expanse of lawn. The seemingly empty expanse of lawn. The suddenly no longer even seemingly empty expanse of lawn, as it very abruptly became a teeming with Rossis expanse of lawn.

“Aary!” shrieked the smallest Rossi, one pigtail falling out as she threw herself into Aaron’s arms. “We missed you!”

“Aaron!” cheered the other Rossi girls, dancing around them in a frightening circle of screaming and chiffon and dark, curly hair. Aaron hugged the smallest Rossi and shrunk back, suddenly overwhelmed by girls and sound and—

“Oi, you dozy lot, bugger off!” hollered Dave. He moved towards them at a slightly more sedate pace, his face a false smile and… oh.

Emily at his side. Not smiling at all, her hands shoved in her pockets and expression mulish.

Aaron shrunk back some more and focused on offering to correct the smallest Rossi’s pigtail, well-used to fixing hair calamities without magic since living with Penelope. When he looked up again, the girls were being herded back by the gentle-eyed Mamma Rossi, Dave’s dad standing by the front door of their mansion with, of all people, McGonagall, by his side. Harry was walking towards them, leaving Dave alone.

“Is everyone here?” Aaron asked, his voice cracking on the ‘ere’. He felt silly and small as Dave’s littlest sister skipped away, his friends silently observing him. “ _Why_ is everyone here?”

“Not allowed to tell,” Emily said with a cold sniff, looking away. Her face was every bit the Prentiss she complained about being, stiff and haughty. “Maybe you should have answered a letter. Jerk.”

She was right, honestly, so he didn’t defend himself.

“Spence is here, somewhere,” Dave just said, glancing around like he expected the kid to pop mole-like out of the ground. “He’s probably sulking away from the geese. Derek and Penelope are inside decorating. You look like crap.” Aaron just looked at him. What was he supposed to say to that?

Finally, Dave gave in. The quiet was too loud, too awkward, and there was a shrieking inside that was building to incredible levels. “It’s Lys’s birthday,” he said, turning back to the house. “If you’re going to be a prick to us, at least come join in with that, okay? And like… smile?”

“Oh, he’ll smile,” Emily said with a sneer. “I’ll make _sure_ of it. After all…” The sneer turned to a sharp grin that Aaron shivered at, something forgotten in his chest thumping back to life. “…We have a secret ‘cheer Hotchner the fuck up’ weapon.”

“A what?” Aaron asked nervously, but they were already walking away. He sprinted to catch up, grabbing Emily’s arm gently, but she wrenched it back and whirled on him. Dave, smarter than he seemed, sensed the brewing storm and quickened his pace. “What are you planning?”

“More than you deserve,” she spat, folding her arms tight across her chest. He bristled, for a second, at the aggressive posture, but then… looked closer. She was huddled over them, elbows drawn tight. Not aggressive. Defensive. He glanced her up and down carefully, eyeing the folded black woollen scarf she was using as a belt, her bitten-down nails, the line of her collarbone.

“You’ve lost weight,” he said finally, and touched that sharply jutting bone tracing her neck. “Have you been sick?”

“No,” she replied quietly. He looked down at the belt. Reached down and fiddled with the hanging end. Found exactly what he’d expected: an almost-invisible-against-the-black stitched _AH_. His breath hitched. He felt _something_.

“Why won’t you talk to us?” she asked, cocking her head to stare him down, her eyes wide and glassy. “Why are you shutting us out? _We_ didn’t hurt you. Doyle did that. And I had nothing to do with Spencer doing what he did either—the little shit didn’t tell anyone what he was planning.”

“S’okay,” Aaron muttered, wincing at the reminder. Not like he could forget it, after McGonagall had made them _all_ write essays on just why the registration of Animaguses was required and just how many horrible and terrible and inside-out ways it could go wrong. “I know that was all his idea. “I don’t know. Everything’s just been… worse. Since the attack. I feel all numb and fuzzy and the only time anything breaks through is when I’m… angry. And I don’t like feeling nothing.”

“So you get angry instead,” she replied, and dropped her arms. “Why at us? You’ve had everyone miserable…”

Aaron thought it over. And he wondered how to word it without actually wording it.

But maybe he should just say it.

“I liked not having my memories,” he said finally, and ducked his head with a hiss to hide his burning eyes. The sun was in them. “I… I liked it Em. I liked not remembering D…Dad. And Mum. And… what it was like. And I liked not remembering… Sean. My brother. I… I thought Spencer and Penelope were my family and McGonagall and just I don’t…” And he broke. Not numb now but crying, and she pulled him close and held him tight, the sun warming their bodies where they pressed against each other and he folded down and over her. Crying into her black shirt, her throat spicy-scented with the familiar perfume, spiky hair brushing his cheek and sticking against the wet.

“You have to remember the good and the bad, Aaron,” she said finally, when he managed to sniff and choke some kind of apology, horrified to realize he’d made a mess of her shoulder. “That’s…. that’s life. That’s Penelope remembering her parents before they died, it’s Tobias remembering his dad before he went crazy, it’s Spencer… well, it’s just Spencer. It’s your dad and it’s Sean and it’s… me. Remembering me. And how we are…”

He looked at her, using the side of his hand to try to wipe the snot from her shoulder. She pulled a face and swiped her sleeve across his cheek, knocking his arm down. Still close. Still _so_ close, close enough that he could see the shape of her lips, a gold glint in her dark eyes, the curve of her damp lashes…

“How are we?” he asked brokenly. “Now that I’ve been such a prick…”

“Hurt,” she replied bluntly, and then kissed him. Quick and awkward and their noses bumped together painfully. “But getting better. Maybe. Eventually. If you stop being a wanker and remember that we love you. That I love you. And that you’re not alone, shithead.”

And she turned, leaving him stunned with his lips burning, and walked inside.

“Was that your secret weapon?” he called after her, stumbling over the step in his rush to follow her in. “That… what that was?”

“No,” she replied, and opened the door. They walked in, Aaron still puzzled, and everyone in the room looked at them. Smiles and nervous glances, and Spencer was sitting on the rug with a kid in his lap. At first glance, Aaron thought it was Little Lacy, sans pigtails once more. Then he looked again.

“He is,” said Emily, and stepped aside.

“Hi, Aaron,” Spencer said softly, coaxing the boy in his arms to look up at his brother.

Sean just smiled, and hid his face behind his hands.

And Aaron stared.


	24. February 24th: An Immeasurable Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 24th: **Home**  - “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, / They have to take you in.” - Robert Frost_

The scroll was crisp and clean, lined with an unfamiliar script interspersed with McGonagall’s sensible handwriting. The ink was blue-black, except for a red seal along the bottom line validating its authenticity. The quill that lay next to it was blue as well, with a sensible silver nib and no tears in the sines. It was all so _mundane._

It was all so _fantastical._

Aaron studied it some more. The room around him was almost empty, except for Harry who was amusing himself by paging through one of the many books that lined the wall, and the Rossis who sat and chattered softly amongst themselves. Trying not to make him uncomfortable by staring. Dave, much to his chagrin, had been asked to leave.

McGonagall sat at his side. Unlike the others, her focus was solely on him.

“You don’t need to decide today,” she said, her voice a soft kind of tone he’d only ever heard from her before twice. Once, when Penelope had arrived to live with them, shell-shocked and grieving. The second time, when Spencer had had a nightmare and screamed until even Aaron had retreated with his hands over his ears. “This offer isn’t going anywhere, Aaron. No one wants you to feel pressured or obligated. Padfoot House will _always_ be your home, no matter how today ends.”

“Always?” he managed to croak, his fingers tracing the quill and then inching across to dab hopefully at the dry ink that intoned _the minors Aaron and Sean Hotchner, their biological parents having no legal recourse to reclaim them, hereby consent—_

“Always,” McGonagall said firmly, and he looked at her. At the lines around her mouth more suited to frowning than smiling, at the soft glint to her steely grey eyes. “But, as Mr. Potter can tell you, you don’t only have to have one home, Aaron.”

Aaron looked at the Rossis. They, finally, looked back, both smiling.

“It’s legal adoption, lad,” Mr. Rossi said, tilting his head to examine Aaron closer. “You’ll be, in every way you desire, our sons. We’re a loud, obnoxious lot, so think that over before you agree. Can’t guarantee we’ll ever be quiet.”

“Or that we won’t half-spoil you rotten,” teased Mrs. Rossi.

“Dave is evidence of that,” Aaron could swear he heard McGonagall mutter.

“But we can guarantee a home,” Mr. Rossi continued. “A family. And love, Aaron, absolutely. Whether or not you sign that paper, we’ll still promise all those things—to you and to Sean. Neither of you are going back to that man, whether you decide to stay here or at Padfoot.”

Aaron swallowed something heavy. Distantly, he was aware that his friends—all of them—were probably pressed against the heavy study doors with their ears to the wood. Waiting to know how this ended—this thing that had been sprung on him after the cake had been cut and the smaller children put to bed. By the grins on the faces around him, everyone else had known it was coming. Dave was shite at keeping secrets.

Almost everyone. One face had been stunned.

Aaron swallowed again and remembered Spencer’s shock, the dismay he quickly tried to turn into a garish grin. Maybe not everyone would be pressed against that door for the same reason…

He looked up to try and catch his breath, shoving his hand into his pocket and fiddling with the end of his wand. A single, tangible sign that no matter _what_ , his life would never again be at the whim of his father. And, thanks to McGonagall and Harry—neither of whom were talking about the confrontation with the Hotchners, but both of whom looked almost furious underneath their smiles when it was mentioned—Sean was safe too. He owed them _something_ for all the work they’d done to help him while he’d sulked and sulked and done nothing—

A flicked by the bay windows. A shift of movement, a small head peering in. Aaron blinked, because whatever it was, it was way too small to be human.

And he frowned.

“If I say no,” he said carefully, letting go of his wand and looking at no one in particular, especially not at those wide windows with the ridiculous ears barely poking above the sill, “will you still take Sean? Please? He deserves a family and he’s only seven, he doesn’t even really remember me…”

“Of course,” the Rossis replied.

“Aaron…” McGonagall said, but Aaron was looking out of the window and there was a small brown shape darting away from the house and off across the lawn.

“Can I take a walk and get back to you?” he asked again, smiling brightly—or trying to—and then he bolted up and out the window after it, hitting the grass at a run with his sneakers thudding on the loam. Behind him, he heard Harry laughing, McGonagall’s startled exclamation.

“Well, can’t blame the kid,” Mr. Rossi’s voice said distantly, booming enough to carry. “Can’t exactly go out the door, what with the whole horde of people out there eavesdropping. Yes, Dave, I know you’re out there—I can hear you swearing.”

But Aaron only barely heard the last sentence, because he’d reached the edge of the grounds and was following Spencer into the expanse of the surrounding trees.


	25. February 25th: A Fateful Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 25th: **Death**  - Today we mourn [character], they died by heroically sacrificing themselves. _

He found his friend hunched by a fallen fence, the twisted wood having been long-ago reclaimed by the tumultuous nature around them. Aaron walked out, steadied his breathing, and looked down at the black-backed hare trembling under a rusted, crippled gate.

“McGonagall is gonna be furious if she knows you’re still transforming,” Aaron said finally, sitting down on the dirt and crossing his legs. Spencer stared back, his hazel eyes ringed by creamy circles of fur that outlined where his glasses would sit. “Can I see your back feet? Do you have odd socks as a bunny?”

The hare frowned, rolled his eyes, and then stuck an elongated hind foot out. One, with a creamy sock that ended at knee, and then the other—this one black pawed. Aaron couldn’t help it; he laughed and laughed until the hare made a noise like a scoff and billowed upwards into the more familiar shape of his bespectacled friend. With bonus buck teeth and wiggling in just the kind of way that Aaron knew he hadn’t managed to lose the tail when he’d changed back.

“Damnit,” Spencer mumbled, touching his teeth with his lip and wincing. “Also, I’m not a ‘bunny’. I’m a… you’re gonna say yes, aren’t you?”

Aaron stopped laughing. It hurt. It was blunt. He didn’t usually do blunt.

But he had to.

“Yes,” he said, and closed his eyes so he couldn’t see the redness creeping into Spencer’s cheeks or the way his chest was heaving as he tried to swallow back anger or pain or just sheer _loneliness_. “I…”

“Should,” Spencer said firmly, and flopped back down to shove his face onto his knees. His voice, when it continued, was muffled but no less firm for the tears Aaron knew were blurring it. “You gotta. It’s… more than we’ve got. And you deserve it, you t-totally d-deserve it, and…”

His shoulders began to shake. Aaron shuffled over on his knees, dragging his friend into an awkward one-armed hug that did nothing, and then giving in and wrapping both arms around him and burying his nose into his friend’s curly hair.

“I’m not abandoning you,” he said, because he knew Spencer was perpetually waiting for everyone to bail. “Not ever. This doesn’t mean I’m leaving you… we’re brothers, Spence. This doesn’t change that.”

“It changes it a little,” Spencer replied wetly. “I’ll only see you at school and you’ll be graduated soon and I might not _ever_ graduate because I’m so shit with my wand I might as well be a f-fucking _Squib_ and—”

“Shut up.” The words were savage, but something painful had kicked in Aaron’s chest at the rough edge to Spencer’s voice. “That’s dumb. You’re the smartest wizard I know. And once you work out your wand, you’ll be the _best_ wizard I know. It’s all in here.” He tapped his friend’s head, ignoring the way Spencer twitched away from his hand.

And Spencer jerked up, staring wide-eyed at him. Swallowed twice, took a sharp breath that rattled around his mouth before slipping from his lips, and Aaron went cold. This was it. They hovered on some painful precipice, some unstoppable drop.

And here came the plunge.

“I killed my mum,” Spencer said. Aaron said nothing. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

He absolutely did not let go.

“It… didn’t mean to. They’re… you’ve seen JJ’s wand. It doesn’t _work_ for her. There are mumbles that the past few years have been the _worst_ for the quality of witches and wizards that the schools are producing, that the decline is because the wands aren’t _right_. They’re not matched to their user, they’re not made proper, they’re not… Ollivander’s. And they let me have a wand early because I was _so good_ at magic, Aaron, so good and just… Mum studied wand magic. She wasn’t a maker, but she worked with Ollivander a lot growing up, with the theory. And I grew up sitting at her knee while he explained his ideas to her, the practicalities…”

“They wanted you to take over,” Aaron mumbled. It sounded _ridiculous._ Spencer was _nine_ when he’d come to Hogwarts.

“They wanted Mum to take over.” Spencer wasn’t looking at anything in particular. “But she couldn’t get the knack of it. But I… did. Wands like me. All wands like me. All except mine…” His fingers trailed on his pocket, the tell-tale shape of his wand pressed against the corduroy. “Mum showed them what I could do and they were interested and took the trace off of me. And I did it… but my wand kept _fighting_ me and Mum told me not to fight back, it was probably because I was young and trying magic way too much for me so she…” He had to pause to take a breath, because the words were rushing and stumbling and tripping as they tore their way out of him. “…gave me a list of stuff I could try. And a warning not to go beyond that. But I did. Of course… and it backfired. My wand backfired. And it hurt her when she tried to reflect it from me. And she died.”

“Spence…” Aaron managed, but Spencer shot him a look so coldly furious that he recoiled.

“It _liked_ it,” the boy spat, digging his fingers _hard_ into his pocket, hard enough that Aaron knew his thigh would be crescent-marked from his dirty nails. “My wand. It liked hurting her and it likes hurting me and some of that is a reflection of myself… so you should leave. And live with Dave and be his brother and forget this stupid everything because my wand likes hurting the people I love and that must mean I do too, doesn’t it?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Aaron believed this completely, but Spencer just looked confused.

“That’s what McGonagall said, and Professor Potter, _and_ the witches they had test my wand after to make sure it wasn’t jinxed or cursed or that it wasn’t purposeful… they all said it wasn’t _my fault,_ that I was too young to have a wand so strong, that Mum shouldn’t have been teaching me that magic. But my dad made me leave. He hates me for it. Why would he make me leave if it wasn’t my fault?”

Aaron didn’t really have an answer for that. “I’m not leaving you,” he just said again, sad and lost and hopelessly unsure of what to say to make this better.

“Yes, you are,” Spencer said numbly, and pulled away. “Because I’m making you. If you stay on my behalf, I’ll refuse to go back to school. They can’t force me. They _won’t_ force me, not knowing what I can do if I lose control. They’ll snap my hateful wand and send me to the muggles and maybe that’s a good thing. Stay with Dave or come back to Padfoot, do what you think is right for _you…_ but I won’t be there if you come back for me.”

He got up and walked back towards the house, his shoulders slumped, pausing before he vanished into the tree-line. “Aaron?”

“Yeah?” Aaron managed around the lump in his throat.

“I’m really happy for you.” And then he was gone. Aaron stayed a while longer, and he planned. Planned and planned and planned until his head hurt and he still wasn’t sure of the answer. When he was done planning, he returned to the now-empty study, the contract still on the table waiting, and he signed it. Dotted the end with a blob of ink and watched it dry. Then he walked from the room and went to find his friends, not a Hotchner anymore. Not him, nor Sean sleeping up the hall with no idea of what choice his brother had just made for them.

Rossis now, and despite his friend’s pain, part of him couldn’t be gladder of it.


	26. February 26th: A Careful Consideration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 26th: **Little**  - Sometimes love is doing tiny things for someone that they may never notice._

Dave wanted to help him pack. Aaron knew he had to do it alone. He thunked open his school trunk, a travelling trunk beside it that McGonagall had bought him with the allowance the House gave him, and he began to pack his life away. It was so, so different from when he’d come here, from the day McGonagall had turned up on his doorstep in the house that had never been a home and said sternly, “See here, Mr. Hotchner, your son _will_ learn to be a wizard, and I just don’t fancy that you can stop him.” On that day, he’d grabbed a single change of clothes and ran from the house without looking back. Today, he looked around a room that teemed with _him_ and wondered what on earth to do with it all. But he didn’t take everything to this third new life of his. He wondered, for a curious moment, just how McGonagall and Harry had retrieved Sean. He wondered if they’d tell him if he asked.

And then he finished packing. Robes and schoolbooks and endless fripperies went into the trunks. Things he’d somehow gathered over the past few years. Jumpers he thought might be Dave’s, a book on Quidditch he knew was Emily’s, a collection of bracelets that screamed Penelope—although he had no idea how he’d gotten hold of them. His trick wand, and he paused over that and fiddled with the etched wolf, fancying it wiggled under his finger.

He found a broken snow-globe dropped behind a cupboard that, after a wary glance at the closed bedroom door, he carefully charmed shut and transfigured so that every fake snowflake was a miniature tumbling puppy, frisking together in their watery home. Penelope would love it.

Tobias wasn’t easy. The kid was a nervous, twitchy thing, even now, and Aaron pondered that. Finally, he found a book of simple defensive spells that he knew the kid would love and were easy enough that he’d master them with just a bit of practise. Aaron, of all people, knew how much of a confidence boost mastery was. McGonagall was both the easiest and the hardest. He knew exactly what he’d leave her, but he owed her so much that he knew it would never be enough. And he was a little ashamed of it. It was sappy.

He snuck into her room—it was never locked, because sometimes the kids were scared and she wanted them to know they could always go to her—and left a carefully folded origami cat on her pillow. It purred and padded around, digging at the soft cotton with paper-thin claws before settling down to nap. When stroked down its folded spine, it would uncurl into the paper it originally was, revealing its heart and his.

_Dear Minerva,_

_I owe everything to you. Thank you, for my life and my school and my home. I can’t repay you, but I can seek to become the best person I can possibly be. Thank you for allowing me that opportunity._

_Love, Aaron Rossi_

To the new kids, he left potions supplies, his old cauldron, anything to help them adjust. They needed them more than he did now. To Spencer, he left nothing because he knew nothing would be accepted. And then he gathered his belongings and moved them down to the hall below, coming back for one last look at his room before closing the door for good.


	27. February 27th: A Dangerous Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 27th: **Final** \- The time is now, the day is here.  The final confrontation with the big bad. Who will be left standing in the end?_

It took them a good chunk of their sixth year to prepare, and a huge chunk of that preparation was spent hiding it from Spencer. Because they didn’t know if Aaron’s idea was possible, likely, plausible, or probably going to kill them all in a horrendous misfiring of magic.

… But they were gonna try anyway, because fear had been a part of their lives for too damn long. Fear of being picked on, fear of being alone, fear of being left behind.

“If we’re going to help him,” Aaron said quietly to the assembled group of his ragtag friends, “we have to do it together. All of us.”

“Oh man, do we get a cool name?” Penelope said, bouncing eagerly. “Oh oh oh like, the fantastic seven or the gorgeously outrageous gathering of—”

“The Legerdemains,” Emily said with a soft laugh, and Aaron wondered when Spencer had let her see his notebook.

And today was the day. Emily and Aaron got there first, laying their two contributions to the spell they’d invented in the centre of the desks they’d shoved together. And they stood there, side by side, staring down at them with their breathing in unison and their shoulders touching.

“Is this even going to work?” Emily asked, twitching her arm so her fingers brushed the back of Aaron’s hand.

“No idea,” he said honestly.

The others arrived and added their parts. Six in a circle, the tips just barely not touching. Their wands. Not their real wands—but the trick ones, the ones that Spencer had made them. All the same, except for the small differences. Dents and nicks on Derek’s and Dave’s, JJ’s polished smooth, Aaron’s worn down from where he constantly picked at the end. Penelope had drawn on hers, happy little clouds and rabbits that scampered around the etched lion. They arranged them so the etchings faced upright, and Aaron knew now what they were.

He brushed his fingers over each and remembered what Spencer had told him—about how his wand hated him. Ever since then, he’d wondered. He’d touched his own and _listened_ and felt a constant hum of something within.

He felt it in the trick wands too. It wasn’t as strong, but it was more… human.

Penelope’s lioness: proud and protective and a little bit dangerous, even alone. A lot more dangerous in a group. His own wolf. Dangerous alone, but better off together. JJ’s kingfisher: they flocked together but hunted alone, beautiful as individuals or as a glittering collective. Dave’s owl—solitary hunters, they sometimes grouped together in family units. Fiercely independent. Derek’s was a lion too, the other half to Penelope’s heart. Emily’s cat: a hunter, alone or in a group, and ever cautious with affection. Her hand twined around his free one as he touched her wand and felt the smug _love_ that thrummed through it. One wand missing, and a gap open for it.

“What’s going on?” Spencer asked, walking in and staring at the desk. “Why have you all got those out?”

“Give me your wands?” Aaron asked, slipping free from Emily’s grasp and holding his hand out. “Both of them.” There was a whisper around him, a sharp confusion. That hadn’t been the plan.

But he ignored them. It felt _right_.

Spencer pulled back, eyes huge. “No,” he stammered, hand whisking to his pocket to curl protectively over his wand. “Aaron, no, you can’t. It’s not _safe_.”

“Please?” Aaron said, and stepped closer. “I’ll protect you, Spence.”

“That’s what Mum—”

“But he’s not alone,” Emily added, leaning back against the table. Dave at her side and JJ peering around them both. Derek and Pen on the other side. “Trust us.”

So he did. The two wands dropped into Aaron’s hand—he’d known that Spencer would still carry the trick wand, even after all this time. And they felt _so different_. The trick wand was warm and bright and vibrant and a little bit silly, humming with intelligence. The hawthorn wand felt…

Angry. Cold. Twisted, a little. But not maliciously. It was a lonely wand with a lonely heart, too caught up in its own potential to realize the hand that held it had never been truly alone. Aaron place the hawthorn wand in the middle of the ring of tricks, adding Spencer’s to the circle with the gambolling hare pointing up.

“Everyone move back,” he instructed, and gripped his own wand tightly with a sweaty hand. Aimed it carefully and recited in his head the long and tedious incantation they’d carefully worked on. He’d cast it silently. His magic seemed to react best to that.

But his friends didn’t. They stepped closer, ignoring Spencer’s gasp, and pressed around him, their own wands held steady. Aaron blinked at them. _He_ was the one who excelled in transfiguration—they’d agreed that he’d try this untried thing.

“We know the spell,” Dave said bravely, his wand tremoring only a little. Cocky, even now, even knowing that using a spell on a wand was _dangerous_.

“We helped you invent it,” JJ replied quietly.

“We do it together,” said Derek, and dragged Spencer into the circle. “On the count of three. One. Two…”

“Three,” finished Emily with a sharp smile, and they cast.


	28. February 28th: A Deceptive Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _February 28th: **Away**  - Alas, my friends, February Prompts are at an end. Our heroes worn, their lives wartorn, mayhaps to mourn, or make some porn, they walk away this morn'. Leave the "camera" for this in one place as they walk away from it._

They undressed, slowly, from their school robes for the final time. When they were done, they sat in silence, the train chugging beneath them. The three of them—Dave, Aaron, and Emily—leaving Hogwarts how they’d entered it.

Together.

“Almost feels like we should be kicking a couple of Slytherins’ arses,” Emily said cheekily, flipping a familiar Ravenclaw scarf around her throat and slipping onto the seat by Aaron’s side. He wrapped an arm around her, drew her close and inhaled the scent of her silky hair. “How things change…”

Dave said nothing, just hummed and looked out of the window, looking wistfully back towards where their castle school stood. Seventh year over. They were graduated.

The door thumped over, startling them, and people poured in.

“Is this where you lot are!” barked Derek, his arms full of bottles. “Oi, I flogged some butterbeer and smuggled it on. Come on, celebration time!”

Penelope and JJ just laughed, both taking a squished seat on either side of Aaron and Emily, mushing them all together. Behind them, Spencer slunk in with his face a dozy kind of toothy grin, his wand in his hand. Aaron eyed it, the intricately lined wood with the intersecting etches carved shallowly into it. The wolf that bounded alongside the hare, the owl’s outstretched wing covering them both. The cat that ran ahead of the wolf but glanced back to it. Still hawthorn but not lonely anymore—not now their trick wands had become an integral part of its heart.

When he touched it now, since their experimental spell, the wand _loved_. And—just like they’d all known he would—Spencer _excelled_ now that his wand allowed him to do so. Things _did_ change. Sometimes for the better.

In the train, together, Aaron knew this to be absolutely true. Far behind them, standing strong despite all the forces in the past that had ranged against it, Hogwarts settled back into a quiet, empty summer. No smoke drifted from the chimneys, no students darted past the windows or ate in the great hall or strolled the grounds. The silent surface of the lake broke once, a lazy tentacle seemingly flicking a weary goodbye at the receding train, and then slipped below the surface.

And time continued passing.

**Author's Note:**

> **Edited in August, 2017**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Brief History of the Modern Broomstick](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9605513) by [Elsepth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsepth/pseuds/Elsepth)




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